


Tales of the Pulse Part 3 - A Truly Savage Stargirl

by Titan_MassMind



Series: Tales of the Pulse [4]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Crime Fighting, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Mini Giantess - Freeform, Muscles, Slavery, Transformation, female muscle growth, kink shows up in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 155,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titan_MassMind/pseuds/Titan_MassMind
Summary: Stargirl has spent her whole life looking up at the other members of the Justice Society. But after a sudden growth spurt leaves her old superhero crush, the massive 7'6"Atom-Smasher, eye-level with her stomach, small enough to get lost in her cleavage, and barely strong enough  to lift her warm-up weights, Stargirl awakens a hunger and lust powerful enough to outmatch her new godlike size and strength. But power comes with a price, and one way or another, Stargirl is going to take what she wants - even if satisfying her urges means crushing her partners beneath her brawny grasp.In many ways, this whole mess is Vandal Savage's fault; and he's about to become Stargirl's sole source of sexual release.He's even going to volunteer.
Relationships: Courtney Whitmore/Vandal Savage
Series: Tales of the Pulse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602472
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Truly Savage Stargirl, and the other Tales of the Pulse works, are set in a universe primarily based off DC New Earth, with some elements from the Animated Universe and Prime Earth, as well as a sort of natural progression of life; Courtney Whitmore is twenty years old and in college, for example. Actual kinky/sexual elements start with chapter 2 and accelerate.
> 
> The year is 2004, late in winter.
> 
> The world is about to end.

Moments before the Pulse:

"I'm not sure why you're bothering. _Really_." The tone is bad enough, but it's partnered with a withering sneer made nastier by experience and age. A lot of age. And a lot of rudeness. It was even worse than that of a quarterback who's just learned that state semifinals and a reputation do not equal getting laid.

The air crackles and ionizes, growling along with Stargirl as she turns up the gain on her Cosmic Staff. Into the sizzle, energy arcs out between herself and her _rude_ opponent. "And I'm not sure why you bother with that _hairstyle_ but I was trying to be polite!"

...

The dismissive stare that is lobbed at her in return is, in her opinion, further evidence that some villains struggle just to mug some respect.

It may not be Stargirl's best quip ever, sure; the brief lash of brilliant energy leaves more of a mark where it grazes his oh-so- _ugly_ -duster. She's been able to keep up with the MMA and practice with the fam, but college has unfortunately significantly reduced her opportunity for banter.

Between the two, her MMA has been the most help with superheroics, sadly. A lot of her "family" is from a far older generation. Not as old as the _jackass_ she's fighting, but not really used to quite how intense street battles get on a regular basis now. A lot of sweet little tricks, but not as much endurance, and it's endurance as much as agility that wins a lot of her fights these days.

And starting her superhero career as a high school-age child of divorce has left her with perhaps less tolerance than many for disrespect from her elders. Especially those that are quite this eld.

Besides, the power of her belt and staff magnify the oomph she's already got. Best to keep that on the cutting edge.

Which is convenient! It's easier to keep your secret identity if all you have to do is work out with one of the better gyms that doesn't mind if a girl's going for at _least_ a four-pack and her sparring partners know where to get themselves some ice really quick.

She's lithe and tough, definitely but no one expects that the bun-wearing blonde chick who never enters the ring wearing less than sensible gloves, headgear, and some proper exercise clothes is going to be the same as the one with long, flowing (grabbable) locks, wearing skintight red-white-and-blue Americana shorts below the Cosmic Converter Belt and the same on a "top" from the bottom of the boobs up only. At least the costume came with a pretty extensive half-mask and sensible athletic boots, and she's doubly glad she never ditched the red gloves or long sleeves.

 _Sometimes I wish I could take back cutting the midriff out… And you'd think getting Mom's rack and the metabolism to keep it on_ this _exothermic bod despite all the running around and bad-guy-butt-kicking would make it harder to keep up the ol' secret thing, but no…_

_Okay, it doesn't really distinguish me much from my peers, but still._

Still, no matter how good her form is-- and her aim is usually better than this too-- her quip skills have definitely tanked since she started heroing part-time. There's not a lot of time to practice. High school politics and cliques used to give her a real edge there, but professors do not usually appreciate cutting commentary on their tweeds, and TAs don't usually like being called henchpeople.

And yet, twenty-year-old Courtney Whitmore has been having a really good day. Evening! Really good evening. Right up until the _rudeness._

Despite the smell. And the bruises. Well, the bruises were sometimes part of the fun!

Grabby henchdudes not so much. And these _are_ all dudes. Nevertheless, getting to smack them down, leaping from oversized mook to oversized mook really did make for a killer solo evening.

From a certain point of view! _Okay, the sewers are never much fun, but zotting mooks and hammering assholes makes up for it!_

To be fair, the sewers probably would have been even less fun if she didn't have her Cosmic Converter Belt integrated with the Cosmic Staff.

Though the frying smell as it keeps her clean is not the best, either. But she is clean, and she is wielding the Cosmic Staff of the Starman legacy, and that should be enough.

Except… All it earns her is a snort, and another fake-out attempt (she hopes) from Vandal Savage. Also known as the leading definition of nasty old man.

The massive supervillain, a little under two meters tall, is not out of Courtney's league. Though it feels a little like two and a half of her could fit from one shoulder of his to the next. Hell, some of his mooks are like three or maybe even _four_ Courtneys wide, and she's taken them down!

She's thrown punches (and shooting stars) with the best of them, and she'll survive this to throw more.

It's not just the frying smell that's distracting, though. The glow of the Cosmic Staff casts strange anti-shadows about the moist and mildewy adjunct to sewage infrastructure. Not at all on the official maps, and while it's much of the same-- concrete, steel, and deferred maintenance for too-many decades-- there's something ominous about these particular sets of lichen-covered tubing and rust-colored stains. No numbers, no maintenance lights, no emergency lights.

Frankly, the guttering not-quite-candlelight of still-burning henchdude couture is not improving matters. Courtney's glad that the belt's energy fields don't glow in the visible spectrum; she's aware she makes enough of a target, thanks. But just like fencing, being able to inhale and mostly disappear behind her Staff makes it easy to deny Savage a clean shot.

It's just as well she doesn't have to worry about the cleaning bills, because she doesn't have the time. It doesn't make the experience any more pleasant. Really, she still winces at the splish-splash of the occasional dodge through mucky… water…

Smaller, faster, way younger, Courtney should have the maneuvering advantage. Unfortunately, Savage seems to be just as slick as the water and just as fast to fall on her as the shadow.

They jockey for position, the brutish-bodied supervillain coming in at her hard and fast even when he's not shooting. However, Courtney is very well used to using bigger opponents (and putative allies, thank you S.T.R.I.P.E) as platforms for her lace-up boots. Thank God, this little undisclosed side-passage and cheap survival horror-setting has a bit higher of a ceiling than even the rest of New York's extensive tunneling! Meaning that instead of being constricted in her leaps, she just has other things to bounce off of.

But it's hard going. Savage isn't just fast and strong. He’s probably invented, and then forgot, and then re-invented more martial arts than Courtney's entire sprawling superheroing family have ever mastered. And that’s including the adopted members, like the Wildcat. Savage also sees very well in the dark, which is not a privilege conferred by either piece of Cosmic paraphernalia she's inherited.

 _I'm never going to admit it, but I'm glad I listened to my Villains 101 lectures._ She knows better than to call him a caveman, unless she's feeling like a trip to the hospital, but honestly, it does suggest a certain familiarity.

Furthermore, her style of supervillain-stymieing relies on either getting in a solid blast from the Cosmic Staff, or exhausting her opponent until a boot to the face is just as easy as a shooting star to the center of mass. The Belt gives her some oomph, and she's trained for situations like this, but even that's pushing her to the edge-- it doesn't help trying to lay in suppressing fire like she practiced when her opponent steadfastly refuses to be suppressed.

Savage isn't not having it his own way, though. She's gotten more than a few hits in, including a couple solid ones that knocked him off his feet-- temporarily. 

Like that last barrage. A blast of crackling electrical disruption and concentrated starlight sock into him from his right hip, arcing across his belly before slashing down the left thigh. More importantly, the final shot doesn't just slam into his left knee-- it overloads both his tibial and common peroneal nerves.

"Damn-- _No!_ " screams Vandal Savage. No matter how good you are, it's hard to keep your balance when an entire limb feels like it's being stabbed by knives made of fire. Courtney's been hit by enough backlash to know how bad that is, and since it also sets off a spasm in his calf…

 _Whump!_ Down goes another heavyset jerk! Unfortunately, just like the last few times, he regenerates and recovers far too fast.

But he still has to scramble to his feet.

_And that is an opportunity. Which leads to… Yes!_

A grin flashes across Courtney's face, brighter than the starburst that slammed under his sternum. The impact knocks the wind out of him; the electrical burst makes his lungs clench, too. She charges forward, pressing the attack!

Only for Savage to spin out into a leg sweep that lets him dodge _and_ nearly take her to the ground. "You… won't get… me that easy, Ms. Whitmore!" he wheezes.

 _Ew._ He's breathing heavier-- in the exhausted way, not the creepy way, but he makes it sound like both-- but he just refuses to slow down and take his beatings like a caveman!

_Oops. Glad I didn't let that quip go to the tongue-tip._

All she needs is time. Even Vandal Savage can't last forever when he's taking more hits than she is. Unfortunately, as a fifty-thousand year old lunatic murderer, he generally has time on his side.

Bouncing off his left arm almost gets her shot by the gun in his right, and she's not _certain_ it's going to be the same measly metal-jacketed slugs as his thugs were bouncing off her before. Better not to find out the bleedy-burny-deady way. So she's forced to move further away from him, to retreat more to keep him in her sights.

To wonder how long she has until...

Savage nods, as though to a minion behind her, and turns as though to step out of the way.

It isn't, precisely, a fake-out. Per-se. One of the mooks wasn’t _quite_ out. 

He takes a last, pointless shot before fading back into unconsciousness. The steely slugs sizzle off the Belt's enhanced defensive field. The bang does more to disturb Courtney.

Into zotting Savage. With enough of a jump forward to actually _follow up_ . She'll never tell a certain relic and a certain relic-collecting honorary relic, but the last few years have made her grateful for having to do both cheerleading _and_ superheroing drills.

 _ZzzaaaAAP!_ Her opponent goes flying.

 _That was a good one!_ Jack and Pat would be so proud; even if the bang set her off to react wildly, her will is still focused and the Cosmic Staff responds beautifully _,_ sending a spray of eye-burning flare stars right down after Savage, the rude jerk that he is. It even lights a bit of that crummy old duster on fire— giving her light to shoot by!

So it may be a better night!

Of course, the man she's fighting is legendarily the first cannibal, possibly the biblical Cain, who has somehow survived being killed by a fragment of the first energy source of the multiverse (which was supposed to _finally_ kill the gross old prick), and whatever heat _he's_ packing has already left Courtney bleeding on the left thigh-- and that was just from a grazing shot.

Savage (hopefully) can't see it, but the Belt's field is still flickering from that, and she's having to balance the fight _and_ divert power from the Rod. She's glad she has the option but the amount of mental juggling she's having to do worries her.

But still, the sounds he makes-- when the shooting stars burn around the Staff's main beam, and when his big body impacts into the wall behind him both-- are pretty satisfactory.

Even though Courtney can't afford to take her eyes off the boss much, but she’s also learned to be happy to face stupid opponents. And the idiot whose shots sizzled off the Belt’s energy field is definitely proving himself to be, well, an idiot still.

She found the shots from behind to be pretty rude, too, but she’ll take rude that equals dumb. Speaking of rudeness and attacks from behind… He's continuing to give _that_ winner a go.

Slowly. It's about to be painfully slowly, too.

She whips around for him, flashing one of her most brilliant grins, and hammers the huge gunman first with a heavy knee to the thigh, sending him into a pained hunch, giving her room to spin onto his back, boots first...

_Either all mooks are starting to blur together to me, or isn't this the same one who tried the ‘GRAR,’ charge little woman from behind move before? Ass!_

_Wham!_ A little hop onto his skull, and off. That should do it! "It's past your bedtime, isn't it, big guy?"

_… I sound like Pat. I want to die._

That’s bad enough. What makes it worse is that the big tweaker just gets up again as she's trying to look for his boss. It takes a little satisfaction out of the otherwise glorious thunk his head makes.

 _Okay, girl, you need to go to remedial Banter for Legacy Heroes,_ she sighs to herself, flipping the Cosmic Rod back and smashing said idiot in the head, putting an end to his (kind of handsy AGAIN) attempt to tackle her. Through the same field that fried his bullets.

_You'd think he'd go the al'Ghul route and get him some legacy assassins or something, but maybe have a reputation for eating your own descendants makes it hard to get families to sign up?_

_Shit!_ In the time it took her to make sure that Handsyman the Mook stayed down, Savage recovered-- and made it across half the fricking room!

He's on her, and her cosmically-enhanced speed is barely enough to let her roll beneath his first leap-- then away from the second-- over the third-- _Yikes, four leaps? That's my thing, and it does not look good on a giant jerk._

She's trying to cut the quips and concentrate. Savage is faster than before-- far too fast, and using his height to pin her down now that he's gotten close. Even when she sprints away, he follows; there's not enough room in here to get some real distance.

Even without being able to shoot him, Courtney can see him in the dim light. Unfortunately, she can smell him even better.

She’s got a lot more zoom to go, yet, though. It's not great; she's forced to continue using the Cosmic Rod, of all things, as a bludgeon. But he's got a pair of nasty bludgeons too, one on the end of each arm.

His darting leaps and slamming tackles spread shadows against her light. The darkness seems to enlarge him, or maybe that's just the panic from having to fight anyone who's been made famous for _anything_ in the cannibal genre.

And as always, far too fast. Insanely fast for a supposedly mostly normal Cro-Magnon, according to her half-remembered Bad Dude Flash Cards, and now that he's inside her reach, he's making it entirely too hard for her to draw a bead on him and his even-mussier _mop_ of a head.

"As I said, Ms. Whitmore-- I don't know why you even _bother_ trying!"

_Ugh. Really? Now he sounds like the staff of Blue Valley High!_

Not the relatively nicer ones she left behind two years ago. The ones who'd been minions, henchmen, and powered thugs. _Best years of my life, my ass-- even after they left, my mom had already started working there!_

The sneer's even worse.

_I wish I’d prepared a bit better— or called for backup!_

\---

Backup would not have been easy to get.

For one thing, it hadn't seemed like the kind of gig where one would find one Vandal Savage, age: fifty thousand, give or take. Partially because looting an auction house would seem beneath him, partially because he was supposed to be dead, and in no small part because her contacts were certain that this couldn't be more than a small time thief.

Those self-same contacts were the ones who'd pointed her onto the hunt. The _Manuals of the Labyrinth_ were apparently some serious end-of-the-world stuff. Her contacts hadn't been very clear on _what_ sort of end-of-the-world, but since they _had_ said there were multiple kinds of world-ending magics in those pages, she felt that was reason enough.

Of course, by contacts, Courtney meant overworked and undersleeping friends in the woefully understaffed remnant of Justice League Dark. The yawns while describing the books as "utterly horrosifying" really should have warned her they might miss a stitch or five or fifty...

Most of the Justice League's occult members, Dark or otherwise, were as dead as the former owner of the tomes. This John Constantine guy hadn't been with the League for long, but he had been League, kinda founder-y for the Dark franchise, and given that the probate had "accidentally" diverted his more accurate and extensive books along with safer memorabilia designed to make sure he went into the afterlife debt-free, that meant the rest of the superhero community was looking to help settle accounts. It wasn't going well.

The bigger problem with getting backup was that there was no one to _help._ Usually, even if your heroic types were busy, there would be amoral neutral parties, antiheroes, or at least not-as-scummy-as-the-rest scum who'd be useful after a good thumping "request" for help. But they were all gone.

It didn't matter whether they were from her cohort or not, friends of the family, or old enemies. Papa Midnite, Jason Blood, Jinx, Fauna Faust (just after her most recent reincarnation, too), _Felix_ Faust, Zatanna, Zatara (Courtney was pretty sure he was already dead but sometimes you couldn't tell, especially with the Hogwarts-ish crowd), and even goddesses like Heqt had just vanished!

It didn't end there. You'd think that the blood at least would have shown up on satellites.

Doctor Fates-- all of them that Courtney knew-- were all dead. She'd been to Khalid's funeral. He and his grand-uncle left a note, which was unusual. "The balance weakens. If it fractures, be ready to run." It would have been nice to know where to run to, or why, or from or at what…

Especially since "at" was her default.

Traci Thirteen was alive, but in hiding. She was last seen at the funeral for Madame Xanadu-- and her father.

Black Adam was dead. Everyone else touched by the power of Shazam had withdrawn to the Rock of Eternity-- and hadn't been back since. Her last call from Billy was frantic. "The wizard says-- Oh, God, Courtney! It's coming-- the change! We have to--" And then the line went dead.

She mourned him like one of the dead, then. When she could.

They hadn't had a relationship in four years. She had plans, after college, after the distractions. It felt stupid, to mourn plans, when thousand more mourned severed ties. But she'd had such plans. Then, she suddenly had no time at all.

The Phantom Stranger and the Spectre weren't answering any calls, presuming anyone could even find the right number.

They said the Swamp Thing had disappeared into the Green again, and the Seeder closed the Parliament of Trees thereafter. That even Neron couldn't be reached for a soul, not that Courtney would be dumb enough to try. Morganna le Fay was said to have stopped herself in the middle of (another) attempt at seizing Excalibur, halfway to a map to its current location, screaming.

The team on the site reported that she just grabbed her son and fled. 

Raven had returned to Earth after a year in New Azarath (the second incarnation) just three months prior, with nothing to add but screaming whenever she tried to find out just what had happened. No one was certain whether or not she was sleeping anymore. Asking her for help got facts, figures, and a swift good-bye.

Among other reasons, because like the few remaining others with ties to the mystic world, she didn't have time to sleep. Out of the dark corners of the world have walked monsters. The vampires hadn't participated in whatever fratricidal warfare or weirdo Kool-Aid moment the wizards and whatnot did. Nor did many of the werewolves.

The Mi-Go were certainly not invited, not that they'd care.

That they were only probing and not invading felt like a warning in and of itself.

—-

So it goes; Courtney is alone less because she should have sought aid and more because there simply is no aid to be had.

The magical world is creeping into the modern realm of science. Old barriers between the rule of the clock and the rule of the wand are dying. Magic is no longer a sexily vague power set for some niche supers. It is an imminent threat.

The books of magic belonging to Constantine had been sorted on-site by a harried assessor with a catalog, a frightened priest, and a tense member of the Brahman caste. The ones that could be sold had been labeled; the lot that would be sent to the Justice League, marked subtly. It should have been easy; it should have been fast.

And some idiot at the auction house decided that company profits were more important than standing international law!

The next crashing punch nearly knocks her head off, but the unexpected response makes her wince even more. "Of course she did." 

_Oops, was that out loud?_

"And I'm not saying she isn't an idiot, but she was a useful idiot-- briefly. Don't you see? You don't even know why you're here, or what you're messing with." Courtney finally gets him out of her personal space with the same sort of swing that makes Pat think she's using the Belt on the golf course during Stepdad Time.

Savage's whuffing, "Oof!" is sweeter than all the stolen time in the shade, "hunting" for a golf ball she passed on the way in.

Even if she's gotten some space, he's still pressing on that darn mockery! _Again_ with the, "You're in far over your head," as he slams his fist just barely past her-- and it splinters the concrete. Courtney grits her teeth; this had better not be another short crack. She is above-average height for an American woman! He's just big!

"Now leave, before I repurpose your skull for a table ornament and see if I can't tame that rambunctious star wand of yours." Vandal Savage laughs.

Nope, not a short joke. Not that it’s any better: gross old jerk going with gross arts and crafts threats.

Courtney's never entirely sure just how much personality the Cosmic Staff really has, but it seems to send the next popping burst of shooting stars out after him on its own. Leaving her time and mental bandwidth to start chanting a selection of the Mind Block Mantras Top Forty under her breath. Just in case.

Savage, it seems, is not a fan. "Oh, don't be stupid; I didn't need telepathy to know how you got down here" he sneers, thumbing the selector on his weapon to full automatic. "It's clear what leads _you've_ been following. Or did you ask someone to help you with your homework, _cheerleader?_ "

Four years of struggling with math and history and just about everything else not kinetic-related, plus two years of the same in college, leaves a mark.

She hasn't been a cheerleader since high school, but it was a lot better prep for MMA than most people think. She has the honor of her sisters to defend! … Except Shiv. He can have Shiv.

"I can do my own homework!" Courtney cries as she dodges beneath the firing arc, focusing her will on the staff and charging up for another round of starbursts. _I have got to pay more attention to my ban--_ "Ooof!"

Instead of shooting starbursts, she's suddenly seeing them when the ki-enhanced fist of Vandal Savage impacts her shoulder and drives her back, almost overwhelming the resistance from her Cosmic Converter Belt.

She probably should have been paying more attention to the fact that the supposedly mostly-normal Cro-Magnon man turned concrete and brick into so much dust a moment ago.

The sneer grows longer. "I'm sure. The squad just lost your number, child." Before Courtney can do more than some ( _Admittedly not very creative either_ ) uses of profanity of which ol' S.T.R.I.P.E. would _not_ have approved, Savage presses his sudden advantage, using his superior size and skills fed by the yawning maw of millennia to fight her back despite the twin Cosmic advantages of Rod and Belt.

It takes Courtney no small amount of time to recover the initiative, but when she does, she comes to a revelation.

 _The books. Big, super-secret magical ritual_ tomes _, probably Of Doom._

 _Savage’s tendency to go for blood with heroes— with whole_ families _worth of heroes._ Courtney’s had personal experience with that.

 _Savage’s world domination_ fetish _bullshit._

_Billy’s phone call going dead._

"Oh, _fucking hell! Billy!_ " Blood-red rage from losing _both_ of her crushes to superhuman bullshit boils over into a sudden froth, and he gives her a quizzical look.

 _He won't even have bothered to-- shit!_ _Too late too late, just keep going!_ She rolls away from him, up to her feet, taking a ready stance. Not just to hold her center, but to ground out the tactics-blanking anger. She isn't going to let this stand, though. Especially not when it gives her the perfect opportunity. "You're the one-- you killed them all, you monster!"

That stuns Savage for just a moment. Well, stuns is a strong word; there's a look of confusion on his face, a tilt of the head like he's reading through a script. It's really more the blast from the Cosmic Rod that stuns him. "How _rude_ , Miss Whitmore!" Stuns him and knocks him back into a pile of rubble.

 _I'm rude?_ I'm _rude? You son of a BITCH!_ Courtney covers the areas in blazing energy bolts and shooting stars, unloading a huge burst from Staff and Belt alike.

Unfortunately, the rubble provides both adequate cover and something to cheer up Savage, who probably _invented_ rude. "Oof!” A small pause. “Well, well-- that's certainly helpful," he says, muffled by the collapsed masonry. "I finally found the last of the idiot's caches. Perhaps you have some use after all."

_Shit, that's not good!_

Savage is already on his feet and moving, snatching up a duffel bag. Before Courtney can threaten him or tell him to drop the loot, he sniffs and goes into a monologue. "And as for the sudden and wide-ranging lack of mystic dabblers-- I had nothing to do with it. They asked for my help, the fools. I said no, but they went ahead anyway."

He shakes his head, and Courtney suddenly feels afraid. It's not dismissiveness; it's not the bad lighting. Vandal Savage's light-brown skin is ghostly pale; there is something coming that frightens the First Murderer.

"Now, now," he says, false joviality all the worse in the wake of that sudden coldness. "No need to fret, cheerleader. You'll even thank me when I'm done, believe me."

 _At least he could be consistent._ "Thank you? For exploiting a tragedy?" That's almost past Courtney's limit on rude and scuzziness for the night. She dashes alongside him, filling his path with shooting stars and the room with near-blinding starlight.

He dodges, the duffel secure over his shoulder, and shakes his head again. "I wouldn't join their little reenactment of every Greek tragedy… ever… but I do intend to make sure I can control the _results._ As glad as I will be to see those crazy bitches sealed away, permanently, prisons are resources to the man who has the key."

 _I really wish I_ had _some help with the homework on this one now-- Pat always said it's bad news when there's an unknown third party, and on that, he's definitely right!_

The dodge pushed Savage away from the exit, but with his prize in hand, he's not bothering to even try to strike at Courtney. She could make him pay for that with a few shooting stars in the back, she's sure, but at this point, she's not taking any chances, and she struggles to cut off his escape.

He's using that unnatural speed again, but it's not a surprise this time, and she's had time to get a feel for avoiding the sewage ditch, so he doesn't get as much use out of it.

Right now, she's just trying to recover the initiative and strike down Savage. Who is being amazingly rude to her for someone who had to have lived long enough to see every form of courtesy invented.

Still, even on the offense, she's playing defense to control the fight, and he knows it. A further smirk follows as he circles Courtney.

It's too familiar of a feeling, and she slides into it, almost forgetting where the _exit is._ As he laughs, she has to move right quick to avoid just letting him waltz away. Which gets _another_ dismissive sneer.

"Perhaps you need it repeated, _little girl_ ,” Savage says, half-spitting his contempt. “This entire charade is completely pointless."

 _He’s such a dick,_ Courtney fumes, but doesn’t find the courage to say it. Illuminated by the constant blasts from the Cosmic Staff, the glint of his canines whenever he smiles really brings out the 'crazed cannibal' part of his look, and he's definitely going for biting remarks.

It's pretty bad, leaving her in no mood to be taking mental notes for her own banter, too. Besides, it's the sort of badinage that requires you care about other people, which is not a notable villain trait. Ultimately, where it is leaving her is depressed, shocked, and-- in a deep corner of her heroic soul-- enraged.

"You're barely an asset to that fossilized Society, and that's when your decrepit armored partner's around. When he's not, or worse, you're chasing after a man twice your age who can grow to more than ten times your height? You're distractible, literally flighty, immature, and worst of all, _perky_." The disgust in his voice is hurtful.

The dig at Albert Rothstein is particularly unnecessary, she feels. Years later, the pain is still fresh from finding out that the avuncular members of the Justice Society of America pressured her longtime crush, the Atom Smasher, to push her away due to their difference in age. _Very_ hurtful.

Not, you know, depressing. Just kind of petty. The banter has faded; the Belt’s imitation of super-espresso with super-shots infusion of stamina is running low. Almost gone.

Or perhaps it’s just Courtney herself. All the energy in the world could be running through her limbs right now and she doesn’t think she’d feel it. Her shoulders raise and lower with each ragged breath, shaking her body and the staff alike.

"What the _hell_ , Savage, you want to talk rude?" she spits back at him, snarling silently as the word echoes. His superior sneer broadens, and she fights the urge to tremble like a ninja rabbit before a bruised and battered-- but unbeaten-- pirate wolf.

 _I’m so fucking tired. I know, Pat, I know; that’s how he gets me._ Having a hyperkinetic combat style has its disadvantages-- and one of them is the endurance and willpower of an opponent.

Distractions are great-- until you meet someone with too much focus. Leaping about is a great way to never have a shot get near you in the first place-- until you don’t have enough space to get good clearance. And always, always, there is the danger of an opponent who knows how to steal your ferocity, to make your emotions your enemies, not allies.

"I loathe perky. Really-- you're just a sad little girl with daddy issues and a phallic inher--"

_PULSE!_

It's a sound effect; it's every sound. It's light; it's a spectrum far beyond the visible. It is a feeling never to be equaled, nor even shared with those who come after. It is the taste and scent of victory, burning in the mind forever. It is power.

And madness. As mad as the plans of Vandal Savage? The world is about to find out.


	2. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world of man has ended in the Pulse. Now it is the time of the Hunters; a time of muscle and madness, rape and ruin. Around the world, a little under one in sixty thousand women have the combination of genetic and spiritual lineages to transform into fantastically muscled, incalculably powerful, and ruinously sexual mini-giantesses called Hunters. Courtney Whitmore is not one of them.
> 
> Instead, through a cosmic accident never to be repeated and seldom matched, the cosmic lensing devices that made her a superhero funneled the full power of the Pulse into her unsuspecting body, saturating it into every cell. The experience is one of almost uncontrolled growth; only perfection channels it at all. Layer after layer, muscle after muscle, Courtney turns into one of the beautiful horrors of the new age.
> 
> And Vandal Savage is about to make a single, terrible mistake. It won't be his last of the night. Just the best.

The Pulse that shakes the sewers under New York-- the entire city, the continent, the planet... no, the solar system itself-- is a sound and not a sound, light and not a light. It brings clarity and madness, terror, and the end of the world.

There are many things that could be said of the new world that comes in its wake. More savage, for one. Less kind, and more deadly for those who were at the top of the heap. Sometimes, it will be at least more  _ fair _ . But the one word will most often be used to describe the world to come is…

_ Bigger. _

The radiant energy illuminates the entire room. It shows the rather shabby state of Savage's overcoat, made shabbier still by the number of cosmic energy bursts he's taken. The smudges and smears on his broad, blunt-featured face mix poorly with his look of abject horror.

To Courtney, he looks like a quarterback who's taken one too many tackles, but she doesn't have much time to jeer.

And her focus is rather more inwardly-drawn.

Bands of power form all around the room, pulsing and throbbing as they tighten around the two combatants-- especially, for a moment, surrounding Savage. There isn't even enough time for him to raise a hand to ward them off before they arc around him, almost dismissive of the ancient villain, and then coalesce towards a more suitable grounding path.

Again and again they strike, brighter and brighter, striking the same ground again and again, like lightning to a lightning rod.

Indeed, the thunderous blasts do flare right towards a rod-- or rather, a staff. The Cosmic Staff.

Stargirl has even less with which to react than Savage. She's not the naif he imagines, not by half, and far tougher, but… Still, in this at least, less.

Less foreknowledge, less experience, but above all, less  _ time _ . The horror in his eyes alarms her, and as wicked as he may be, she's a hero. She's on the edge of leaping to his aid when the Pulse's power disdains Vandal Savage. An inexorable part of any decisive action, the moment of the crease, forgoing any defense of the self to defend another.

It is the last heroic moment for Courtney Whitmore for quite some time. Her screams last rather longer than even most selected by the Pulse.

Her opponent does take the opportunity to scramble out of the way, for all the good that it does him. The power of the Pulse concentrates. When it strikes the staff, the backblast fills the room with an explosion of light and heat travelling ahead of the kinetic wavefront.

This won't be the first time the Cosmic Staff has acted as a lightning rod, nor the last, as it happens, but it is the last time for Courtney. All the retina-searing beams seem to merge together as they strike the hook-shaped end of the Staff, drawn into its upgraded energy sinks, more powerful but otherwise little different than those in the original Starman's Gravity Rod.

More powerful, with better batteries, a wider band of acceptable energies-- and most importantly, designed to interface with and empower the Cosmic Converter Belt of the Star-Spangled Kid, now at the waist of Stargirl, heir to both heroic legacies.

The first burning bolts of Pulse power coalesce in the locus of the hooked tip, with crackling feelers rotating around the curve itself. But they are not alone. The Pulse continues, its localized reach spinning around Savage's dark gulf of ages towards Courtney's brightly-lit bod like a slingshot accelerant. A sphere of power forms at that locus, growing wider and wider until it consumes the entire hook.

Although the Cosmic Staff has always been capable of responding to mental commands, Courtney Whitmore's training has emphasized again and again: do not let your weapon drop during combat. Whatever you do, unless there is no other choice,  _ keep hold. _

By the time she took up the Belt, she knew the utility of drills. By the time she was given the Staff, she was even willing to admit that her stepfather and his odd extended family of heroes had something to teach. No matter her troubles with academics, Courtney has always been something of a prodigy with kinesthetic intelligence.

She impressed them, too. Light on her feet and fast to improvise, they trusted her instincts as a fighter. Neither Jack Knight nor Pat Dugan believed that there would ever be a time when the otherwise apparently limitless batteries of _ both _ the Cosmic Staff and the Cosmic Converter Belt would be overloaded like this.

Not with the near-Lantern-like power of the technology, and the stubborn independence of Stargirl. But now it's coming so fast that Courtney simply doesn't have time to overrule her instincts and hurl the staff away. None of them, not Courtney, not her mentors-- none of them would have thought it possible.

Even if she was shocked by the first leap, the resistance of the energy fields fueled by that power should give her the time she needed to make the crucial decision.

It wasn't one arc. It wasn't even just ten. They didn't just follow the Staff's connection with her aura, interfacing with the fields of the Belt. They didn't just follow the line of her hands to her arms to her core. Any  _ one  _ would have been overwhelming, carrying the energies of the Pulse and concentrating them.

It was hundreds of blasts, all near enough to be simultaneous. Regardless of whether or not the Whitmore or Kurtis families bequeathed sufficient genetic, epigenetic, or mystic load into Courtney to trigger the Hunter transformation, the saturation of power would have been sufficient to change her by mere exposure alone.

Some twenty or thirty times over.

And then, the Belt hammers in the  _ rest _ of the beams, right into every cell in her body.

The shock of it knocks her to the slimy concrete below, still clutching the Staff tight to her chest as it pulls more and more glowing Pulse into her. She can hardly tell the difference; far more immediate sensations impose themselves.

The first backblast stunned Vandal Savage. Mere moments later, the second burst takes him completely off his feet. He doesn't even hit the far wall before Courtney's screams overtake his gruff cry of pain.

Screaming with something a little like pain, but a lot like an orgasm, Stargirl feels her body change. At one-point-six-five meters, she can, in fact, honestly say she's tall for a woman. By about two, maybe three centimeters, but that's better than by inches. She's about to be much more than that.

Much, much more.

Power like lightning crawls along her arms the most, and it's there the transformation hits first. The two well-toned limbs are filled with energy, nourishing and nurturing them. Involuntary flexing swiftly sets the stage for expansion. Huge strands of the luminous energies coalesce in beautifully  _ organic _ shapes, fitting over her forearms in sweeping grooves, then twisting and knotting along her upper arms, down and out back towards her hands.

The power flows like alternating current-- back and forth, back and forth-- ecstatic pleasure and pumping bulges following in its wake. Along the way, the power keeps feeding her, keeps enlarging her, adding bulk and definition to each muscle-- to every strand and fiber! The rest of her follows suit, re-shaping her to be beautifully proportioned to her newly expanded gun show as the Pulse sketches a brand new body overlaying the old.

To most onlookers, Stargirl's often seemed to have a sort of eternal and elemental girl-ness; her limbs like her core-- full of tone and surprisingly dense strength, but simply not designed to pack on mass. Wrapped in the ecstatic embrace of the lured Pulse, the outline created by the energies of the Pulse has more in common with the original Power Girl at her beefiest and breastiest-- and then, very quickly, exceeds it.

Very quickly, indeed. In moments too small to measure, the collected swirls and whorls of the Pulse form an outline-- a rough draft-- around her that would shame the Last Son of Krypton, too. And into  _ that  _ outline, she grows with nearly unlimited power!

Her whole body tenses with the orgasmic Pulse, forcing her into a perfectly posed display. That tension gives her definition to fit the broad strokes of the Pulse's outline first. While her arms and chest are the early centers of the energetic growth, they're quickly joined by the rest of her, especially her athletic legs.

She's not quite to the outline yet, but several WNBA teams would sell their coach's souls to get a hold of her already. Most of the growth so far is in definition and raw toughness. She'd terrify the other players, but that wouldn't be an obstacle.

Just by the look of her, no team would need any other offense at all. Hell, let them just get a glimpse of those chiseled legs move into a crouch. After that, no one's going to come between her and  _ her _ ball.

Not one woman. Not three women. Not all five of the top female athletes in the world would get between her and anything she wanted. Not that men would do much better.

The toned muscles of her fit body clench, becoming tighter, more defined. Her skin grows tauter; smooth curves, striated. The power spirals down from where it's collected at her core, re-drawing her legs into banded lengths with elegant proportions and rigid perfection in a single moment where all of her muscles are in hard, vibrating displays of beautiful power. Forget coaches; Ms. Universe-class bodybuilders would sell their  _ mothers _ for a shot at even half the perfect sculpting in a single arm.

Just looking at her in motion would be an amazing moment just for itself. Just looking at her now, with every part of her in glorious display, she looks like she's packing in enough tight for any  _ three _ athletes anyone could name. Then, relentlessly, that flexed definition becomes her body's  _ baseline _ , flesh flowing to fill a powerful, whipcord frame like the apotheosis of a gymnast. She's big enough and tough enough to vault without a pole-- she's already moving fast to half the world record leap by height alone.

The rest would be just a lazy afterschool skip or a cheering flip for her now. To get anything like this flexion fantasia, you'd need to give her a Mack truck to vault-- bracketed in vertically. Hard lines chisel beneath the glowing surface of her skin, already vibrating taut enough to crack the concrete beneath her back. The woman she becomes in mere breaths looks like she's spent a lifetime of fighting without the benefits of her Belt, honing her body into as much of a weapon as the Staff.

It's not enough for the Pulse! Not nearly enough for the furious power collected in every last corner of her body! It's all still being fed and fed, and the apex of a warrior's life is not nearly enough.

So the baseline becomes larger and larger, growing to the extremes of the radiant outline. This is no hollow inflation; the Pulse packs in preternaturally-endowed flesh, giving Courtney more mass, and more grooves, and more tightness, as though magnifying anatomical maps of the layers just below the skin-- and still more. Always more.

With her body shaped to its new purpose, size follows. She's growing uncontrollably from the core out now. Her abruptly hardened muscles are packing on top of themselves in an orgy of their own.

As the first reaction-expansion-reaction sequences send Courtney thrashing and growing and howling, Vandal Savage impacts the far wall. It knocks the wind out of him even before gravity kicks in. With none of the pleasure or power that the Pulse forces into Courtney to blunt the ruinous pain, he's unconscious within milliseconds of impact.

She might have forgone the pleasure to escape the pain as well, but the Pulse has no more mercy than its Hunter children.

Screaming, the agony briefly rises to the fore; with the transition incomplete, she doesn't have the body to handle that much power, that much change. For the last time in her life, she is helpless, thrashing in the grip of the Pulse. But the Cosmic Converter Belt is still pumping its energies into her, forcing her bones to resist and her flesh to endure.

Within that protective embrace, she keeps flexing and flexing, forcing tension further into her now bodybuilder-big body. The pattern, established, does not relent. That tension becomes definition, already sculpted strength developed like lifetimes spent in the gym; consummate definition becomes a terrifying new baseline for her body-- and then, always, the baseline grows.

The cycle repeats again and again, and pleasure takes over yet again. With each new flex, it's true, she blossoms bigger and bigger, flowering into fortified might. But with each new full-body clench, she cums, her voice gone from screaming into something more like wordless singing.

She's already past two meters and change now. As her beautiful body packs on pounds and power, she looks like she'd be able to eat other amazons for dinner-- or just as appetizers. The WNBA doesn't have the money to get her on the field, but the NFL might. She's not even at the shoulders implied by the glow, and she already looks like a single flex of her biceps could make half an entire NFL team's defensive line go weak at the knees-- and that a single charge with those barrel-chested pecs and tree-trunk thighs could put the other half into the hospital.

As her bones and muscle take on bulk, stretching her and packing her and  _ forging _ her, the Belt's what saves her, keeping body and soul together just long enough for the mystic components of the Pulse to adapt her to its unlooked for effects. Of course, it does that by inundating her entire body, head to feet, power slamming up from the changing Earth itself to meet the well of power already within her.

Incoming energy saturates through her body by means of the Belt. It's like a series of subcutaneous injections, pushing the wonder-drug of the Pulse into every last cell. Even if it hadn't, the Pulse will not be contained. Once a kind of circuit forms, the energies traveling in through her arms and back out again to feed the Cosmic Staff once more, it spreads, inundating all the flesh, all the bone, all the  _ Courtney _ that there is.

It all grows, making more and more of said Courtney by the moment, almost all of it hard and taut. Only below the midsection and immediately above it are permitted more than the most minimal body fat, and there it all seems to collect-- hips and ass and breasts. She was already pretty chesty for her athletic frame and lifestyle, her F-cup an inheritance of genetics that was as stubborn as she. It's about to go past stubborn and into outright rebellion.

Despite her transformation into a bodybuilder's dream, Courtney's lovely breasts do not wane. This isn't conventional exercise, burning fat to fuel form. Indeed, each time her pecs pump and tighten and expand, her tits do too, like they were muscles as well.

The inflation's on there, far past the basketballs Shaq would now be begging to give her rather than suffer having her take. They pump and they plump, following the wheel-sized expansion of her pectorals. Only with a far more obscene extravagance-- the luscious softness endlessly expanding. Their round shape becomes rounder, fatter even proportionally, each new round of expansion adding to the jiggly, succulent whole.

She passes from generous, into voluptuous, into pornographic very quickly indeed.

Lithe limbs, hooked on agile hips and sleek shoulders, are forced out to suit the immense transformation. At her shoulders, it's intimidating; at her hips, electrifying. An inherent sway follows the lines of more than just fat and muscle, pumping on. Her very bones are altered. Now, in addition to swinging the highest of kicks and flipping on a dime, her every motion will be smoother, swifter-- and her very walk, an ever-present swagger, saturated by a self-satisfied wriggle.

Her ass follows suit, if not quite so much as her breasts. Her hips are now made for an inherently sensuous swagger in every walk. Even were she sitting still, the lovely perkiness of her bouncy butt would inspire erotic devotion in its perfectly held shapeliness.

Nonetheless, just like her pecs, her glutes' massive hardness is lovingly covered in a layer of mouth-watering teardrop  _ wriggle _ . Within moments, just a light shifting will sway like a metronome's version of a swish. For all the pillowy excess the Pulse pushes into her, Courtney's top and bottom curves retain their prior perkiness and then some.

If she had a moment between the full-body climaxes and writhing growth, she easily could bounce a quarter off either jiggly asscheek. More-- if she laid a quarter on her rear, she could clench, flex and juggle it back and forth without hurting it-- or crush it into powder with a single fierce  _ squish _ of the muscle beneath.

She doesn't really have such a moment. She's still screaming, but now it's coming in panting, delicious shudders, delicious bursts and pumps of energy following her every strengthening spasm. Between her abruptly amazonian legs, more than sweat and tears stains her skin now. Her overburdened shorts, suddenly filled with enough quadriceps for an entire marathon's worth of runners, creaking almost as loud as her screams, would show quite the embarrassing proof of her constant cumming-- if they weren't already doomed.

_ Crunch _ . Unheard by his long-scattered minions, unhearable under Courtney's wails of climax and agony, Vandal Savage finally hits the ground. His regeneration has already kicked in; he recovers swiftly, but not this swiftly. Less than a second has passed since the locus crowning the Cosmic Staff knocked him off the ground. In that same time, Courtney has more than doubled her initial mass and been filled with incalculable power!

The pain is still there; her bones are expanding, and that had been uncomfortable enough for her taking the slow way through puberty the first time. While her bones aren't growing  _ quite _ as fast as her muscles, they're still making a miraculous expansion as well.

Miracles aren't always painless waves of a gentle hand, after all.

She-- or rather her clothes-- are granted a passing miracle of materials science, too. Her formerly F-cup bra is pushing the limits of its elastic as far more than regular wear and tear are applied from within. Her nipples alone-- always cute little cherry things, now broad and fat with immense areolae surrounding them like great daises around giant queens-- seem to be doing their best to poke through, and the band itself is holding its post by a single, heroic clasp in the back.

Her height settles, leaving her long across the broken floor. She passed Vandal Savage's height within moments. Now?

Even on her back, she's more terrifying than the Dark Lord of the Sith. Her height swallowed Darth Vader's two meters long ago, and he could disappear hiding behind her now. She couldn't even use him as a backrest.

As for Vandal Savage-- hidden by the same pile of rubble he was knocked through to find the  _ Manuals of the Labyrinth, _ he has swiftly recovered consciousness. His hand, fumbling, touches cold metal, and he makes a  _ very _ unwise decision. Sadly, he never had common sense to recover.

The Pulse slows to a throb in Courtney. Arching her back and upthrusting her newly massive mammaries, she spreads out, limbs splaying wide. Somehow, she's still clad, barely. At two-point-twenty-five meters, she's grown by thirty-six percent in height alone. By volume? There's  _ four times _ as much Courtney Whitmore now, all of it either harshly enhanced hardness or opulent, jiggly vastness. At this point, only the relatively loose fit of her costume has preserved any modesty at all.

Of course, her bottom has gone from  _ shorts _ to  _ thong _ and her sleeves went around the time her biceps started looking like they swallowed the best Hulkamania-brand pythons and then tried to devour the rest of the wrestler, too. Frankly, if compression alone could merge fabric, the remnants of her dark navy top would have long ago wedded (and welded) to her poor, overburdened bra. But for the moment, yes, she retains something like modesty, if not dignity.

Modesty is a relative term.

For one thing, tough, reinforced, and custom fitted, her boots are long gone. They were designed to protect her feet and keep her bouncing throughout her preferred combat style, to take heavy falls or misjudged landings while flying on the projections of the Cosmic Staff, to keep injury at bay and even to add a little extra mass to a kick.

They were  _ not  _ designed to withstand having a suddenly invulnerable wearer gain two and a half times her former volume. On her back and writhing ever-faster, Courtney doesn't even get to keep her soles (let alone her socks); as she grows and grows. The well-made leather and the calf-high socks within simply burst all at once.

Frankly, it's more dignified than the slow tears shredding into her costume and revealing vast new bulges of strength. And that was before the Pulse began to add amazonian fantasy to a mostly conventional combination of acrobat grace and bodybuilder beef.

Her midriff was always bare, but with her sleeves swiftly shredding and her shorts pinned between legs and groin, it's not just her super-sized six-pack that shows off the next phases of enhancement. Secondary muscles layer on top of the now perfectly-defined human primary shapes, painting into fractal forms that resemble symmetric, striated extrapolation of exercise, a new diet, perhaps chemical supplements-- but are so much more.

As with any of her metagene-blessed friends and co-workers, the secondaries form an unexpected layer of protection, distributing the force of incoming blows. It's not just passive; those bulky bulges store what amounts to additional organic gearing, distributing the  _ load _ , too, and allowing for use far longer than a human approximation of the same strength could last.

They also allow metas to prepare and tense in extra power for a surge of strength, often accompanied by a kiai or other warcry-- it's not like they'd just stand around flexing and growling for hours, right?

Past the nightmares of gym-going fanatics, she grows! Forget half the defensive line; a single, errant flex of her biceps would make an entire opposing football team run screaming for the exits. The power of the Pulse has left her far larger than all but the tallest NBA players and far broader than even the burliest fullback. Entirely new muscle groups, still following the old blueprints close enough so that the colossal woman is terrifyingly beautiful still, spread like spiderwebs around the outlines and grooves, connecting and associating tissue to form immense new  _ systems _ .

These new tertiaries will allow Courtney, like her fellow Hunters, to move with surprising, deadly flexibility and speed despite their new mass. To the eye, they look like her muscles have grown muscles, and that's pretty much what they are. Already endowed with micro-control to match mega-strength, her big, grasping hands can be amazingly delicate-- and sadistically precise.

The glow ebbs, all but swallowed by Courtney's vastly-expanded musculature and curvaceous endowment. Her huge body is now illuminated by the light, more than shedding it. All that's left is a thin glimmering coating formed from the last gasps of the Belt's power.

The Pulse ends… mostly.

Sucking her lower lip over her teeth, her grinding heels and elbows creating craters of powdered concrete, Stargirl lets out a keening sound, mourning pleasure and power lost. Her climactic flexing has ebbed, too, leaving her tingly, her senses jiggling almost as much as her luscious tits. About as much as her gorgeous tush-- which has left its own smooth imprint in the thoroughly broken floor beneath her.

But she still has the Cosmic Staff in hand. It doesn't want to; the bond to its wielder is nearly extinct and its quiescent, slumbering awareness is horrified by the monstrous hungers lurking within her. Still, just one of her fingers could haul every car in North America, flinging them for miles with just a crook.

The old lessons hold; she refuses to let go of her weapon. It's a crutch now in many ways, but she uses it to slowly lever herself, first to sitting and then to standing.

Struggling to her much-expanded feet, she teeters, groaning at the very edge of unconsciousness. The Pulse has passed for most Hunters, forever stored within their greatly expanded thews. It might have ended there for her, too, save for the ill-judgment of others and the genius of Ted Knight, the original Starman.

The unmarked hidey-hole is now lit as much by the still-glittering locus within the Cosmic Staff's hook as it is her strange, white-hot outline, delimiting the very extremes with which her Belt and Staff are trying to protect her-- even from herself. The barely bikini'd Courtney Whitmore glows and glistens, her pale skin vibrating like an infinite number of violin strings over her new musculature.

Her Belt, glowing and sparking in rainbow colors in great pulsing discs, is strained so far that only narrow threads of Ted Knight's 1930s design sensibilities that's really holding it together. Narrow threads made from redundancies in wiring and reinforcement. Given how potent her belly alone is, it can only be a possessive instinct that stops her from crushing or snapping the rest with each ragged, abs-tightening breath.

She leans on the abruptly quiet Cosmic Staff, her huge fists gripped all the way around the shaft and each other like a macehead. Her blue eyes are open, yet unseeing. The Pulse has been rougher on her than those who came to its power naturally, and for all the unlimited sensorium endowed her, she is still overloaded almost as much as her Belt. The new senses are no mercy. Almost the entire world is rushing into her head and even her Pulse-empowered brain is simply losing track.

There, she's to her feet, though hunched over. She takes a half-step forward. At once, she knows every crack in the concrete, yet is unfeeling of it, unable to tell she's unshod-- her mind is still working too hard to remember what shoes (and everything else) are to get caught up in such minutiae as her near-nakedness. The remnants of her top have more in common with a belt than a bra; not only do they not cover even all of her areolae, but the squeezing constriction of all that breastflesh is threatening to send her into orgasm again.

Below, she's doing a bit better, if only by comparison. While her shorts are more or less disintegrated on her legs, the last covering around her still-shuddering sex remains. It's soaked, plastered to her skin by her new mass-- closer to body make-up than body covering-- and behind, the last thong-like string has disappeared into the quivering abundance of ass. But it's there, and, arguably decent, even though the plumpness of her labia and the stiffness of her clit are clearly visible in the camel toe tightness of the navy fabric.

Her huge chest is heaving in shudders and gasps, sucking air in as though it could still inflate her further. Now impossibly-tight abs are clenching and releasing like the scales of a snake whipping from side to side. Her broad pecs flex, then relax, again and again, turning each inhalation and exhalation into rapid pumping of air.

It also makes her newly expanded rack continue wobbling on past each breath for several moments, the tight constriction straining more and more on that poor final clasp.

She orients towards her enemy, instinctively predatory, for all her disorientation. Titanic quads trembling, huge, deeply defined calves so taut they almost look like a charley  _ herd _ , she hulks forward, unaware as of yet of the shuddering echo of her footfalls or the shattering concrete that leaves further little craters in her wake. Conflicting feelings of lost pleasure and remnant pain are outlining her awareness of the chiseled vastness of her back, and it's there that she begins to feel strange in her own skin.

It's also there that the story of Courtney Whitmore, unheralded Hunter, might yet have risen to 'simply' a similar stratospheric rise, just like the majority of her eleven hundred-thousand sisters. In a world where the very stone and earth beneath their feet was forever changed merely to survive their footsteps, that would have been no bad fate. Billions more will suffer far worse.

She is now a physical goddess, a musclebound god-queen. Her desires and drives will re-write the lives of all who cross her-- other Hunters included-- with respect from her peers and fear from even the mightiest of the metahumans of the old age. Even if two point two-five meters is a bit below average for the gigantic females that will terrorize mankind forever, it's accompanied by a tightly packed density and definition that would have made her an object of envy, fear, and lust for many taller Hunters.

As she is, Stargirl is now a woman of utterly insane levels of strengths, savagery, perception, and a host of other powers that often seem superfluous to the toys and victims of the ever-Hungry Hunters. When such worms have the energy to complain to the uncaring universe, that is. Usually, most can't spare an  _ erg _ . Radiant and beautiful, deadly and voracious, the Hunters utterly dominate the lives of at least hundreds of thousands of survivors-- per Hunter!

As a species, the whole globe is theirs to play with, and only those who escape the planet escape their attentions.

Still, the Pulse plays favorites, and while the unusual combination of events in the sewers attracted its attention, there's really only so much instantaneous change Stargirl's base form could withstand. She is not the first superhero to become a Hunter; she's not even the last. The younger generation soon undergoes another harrowing as puberty pointed them towards adulthood.

But she is not alone in the sewers. An ancient shadow looms out of the now-darkened room. Sort of looms; he now has no more stature than a child before her.

Vandal Savage, ancient monster that he is, is perhaps the one man, the one  _ person _ , on all the planet who mostly knows the story of the Hunters and the story of the Pulse. He knew how dangerous the Titan Rite would be, and what cost attempting to even restrain Hunters would have. He knows how the intact lineages came to despise males, even-- as so much else, it is his fault.

Indeed, with only a little foreknowledge, he estimated the backlash of the Pulse. Unfortunately, awareness is not the same thing as understanding. He thinks he knows the extent of their power, these new Hunters, and that is why he's making a very, very bad mistake. Well, his second extremely bad mistake of the night.

Courtney's now incredibly sensitive hearing is treated to what feels like a SNAP followed by a number of other clicking noises as the usually inaudible selector is set, and the gun's barrel aligns more fully with the micro-fusion chamber. That's not the mistake. It doesn't quite pull her from her post-Pulse pounding headache and reverie.

"Unexpected but not unsurmountable," Vandal Savage tells her, his tone every bit as haughty and dismissive as when he erred first, calling her a cheerleader and then mocking her for not being on the squad. "Good-bye, Miss Whitmore."

There it is, mistake number two. The first one, the arrogance, is going to be rather more personally painful for him, in the long term. The second, just now, is stupid; the third, later, inexcusably so.

He shoots her.

Perhaps if he had known more of her mind at that moment, he might not have taken the shot. It is unlikely, however. Her growth and his greed push him inexorably towards the trigger.

The shot is taken.

The explosion follows after and into inevitability.


	3. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pulse has come; the Pulse has left. In its wake, more than a hundred thousand have been transformed into the terrifying ultra-predators: the Hunters. Vandal Savage has seen Courtney Whitmore transform; her own experiences were rather broader. Enlightening, if only into darkness.
> 
> And then he shot her with a fusion gun. He won't be the last to use such ordinance on Hunters; unlike most, his worked. It struck the already overloaded field of the Cosmic Converter Belt.
> 
> Causing a catastrophic release of its Pulse energy stores, an experience unlike any outside of the Outliers. The transformation is sudden but not swift.
> 
> When the first Pulse hit, Courtney was of a non-Hunter lineage, with no pre-existing energy transference and saturation cells and sub-organs; the only reason she became a middling member of a Multiverse-level threat was because of the Belt and the Staff.
> 
> Now, the miniature Pulse rips into her with the same effects as it does the Outliers, the great horrors of the species. The woman who comes out of this transformation is a war goddess of warrior goddesses. Power, not her birthright, but her inheritance nonetheless.
> 
> Then Vandal Savage blasts her again, anyway. Unwise.

Funneled into Courtney Whitmore, called Stargirl, the terrifying power of the Pulse has induced in her a startling transformation. Whilst fighting Vandal Savage, the fifty-thousand-year-old First Murderer, her Cosmic Staff and Cosmic Converter Belt charged her very cells with the saturating aftershocks of the Earth-TitanMassmind's birth. Although she had only the faintest of human common connections to the one in a hundred thousand now forever made into Hunters, the lensing and infusion of power transformed her anyway.

Thus, Courtney became one of the titans of the new age, ready to stride over the ruins of the Age of Heroes-- and humanity. Broad-shouldered, far more muscular, and far bigger than Vandal Savage, she'd be able to turn him and any five of his best minions to paste even if she had gained no more than mass alone. It did not stop there.

Vandal Savage never leaves well enough alone, and almost never cuts and runs soon enough. But what is the world like, to one newborn within the power of the Pulse?

_I can see it all! Everywhere! Everyw-- wait, I can't see beneath me? Why is stone different when I can see through lead-- when I can see sound and feel ultraviolet light? And why is it so hard to see just part of it? Any part less than the whole?_

Like most who awakened from Pulse, Courtney is partially stunned, her senses blasted wide open even as her mind entered entirely new states of consciousness. She recognizes her remarkable physical power and beauty only on the instinctive level, as she attempts to cope with senses that can sweep the planet. Even with a mind now capable of threading thousands, possibly even millions of experiences all at once into a single, integrated whole, the feeling is overwhelming.

_That one looks nice. I want to haul her-- and him, and him, and her, and them, and-- down and stick my fist so far up her twat I can call her a Mupp--_ **_NO!_ ** _No, no, no…_

_… but it hurts so bad it feels like I've never had food never taken a breath never had a drop to drink..._

That it comes with a gnawing hunger to dominate, to fuck, and to face her equals and know she has been struck is horrifying enough for a relatively balanced and emotionally healthy young woman. That it is tainted with a sudden denial of her heroic beliefs is worse. Immense and powerful, she sees millions of humans simply around her body alone-- billions, over the world whose heartbeats all reach out to her.

And her powers label them one and all nonentities. Props. Toys-- save Hunters. The same intellect that overwhelms her is only beginning to develop schools of ethics and morals, centuries of philosophical contemplation and dialogue flashing within the scant minute or two since the pulse.

_It's only fair. I can make things so much b-- I sound like Gog-- but if they break when-- I need-- No… But they're so small, why do they matter? Do they matter?_

_I don't think I want them not to-- but--- they won't let me hurt them and they won't fight enough-- No… I need… No… I NEED!_

But while she is still trying to get a hold on the world, an angry voice screams of someone's defiance. Some arrogant fool of a gossamer human, daring to _threaten_ her. The concept is so unlikely it takes her significant searching to realize her new senses are warning her about an old foe-- now impossibly weak by comparison-- standing right in front of her.

_Huh? Vandal Savage? Why does he matter?_

_Why would I give a shit about Vandal Sa-- well, he looks kinda fuckable, honestly, and maybe it doesn't matter so much if I hurt him. He was_ rude! _And, I can hurt him so good…. He can't die, right?_

He's making another quip. Something about mounting. She wonders if he realizes she's the one that will be doing the mounting now, thanks. He doesn't realize his tongue is made to please her by obedience or by screams.

_What is he holding, anyway? Some dinky little gun? Huh. I can see inside it, and… I understand it… I can do physics now! I can_ invent _physics!_

A gun developed to wound kryptonians and overcome the universal guardians of the Emotional Spectrum is fired at her. It can't possibly hurt so much as a single patch of skin. But the bolt of plasma doesn't strike her skin first.

_Ohshit. I can do math! That sparkly bit in front of me… Oh shit, the math! All the math!_

Nerves that can react before lightning has a chance to form are still settling from absorbing the world at once. Her body moves so slowly-- it takes microseconds, aeons of microseconds for her to move limbs that will let her outrace wishes and leap faster than the dark can fall.

It strikes the nigh-overloaded energy field of the Cosmic Converter Belt-- and the explosion which follows, _that_ can touch her.

Lost in the sudden shock of unexpected but undeniable pain, twined with pleasure, from a source beneath her notice, she does what many of lesser or indeed greater intellects have done.

She thinks back to where it all went wrong.

Retrospection. It's a trap, and a shield both. The trap (lost reaction time) doesn't matter; the shield (distraction) is more important.

Because this is really going to hurt. Not in the fun way, except by extension. Worse, she can do all the math that tells her just how much.

Perhaps not the best choice when you're suffering a new explosion of power in every last cell of your body. But Courtney is a Hunter now, and in less time than it takes her eyes to register the sudden burst of fiery plasma, she is able to rewind time-- to think back… back…

To her new beginning.

To her _first_ rebirth.

In moments, her mind is back to when she awoke from the immense power of the Pulse. To seconds after the Pulse has ceased. Mostly.

As a force released by the culmination of the transformation of the Earth itself, it shakes the lives and souls of every inhabitant therein. Especially those-- like Courtney Whitmore-- who taste its blessings directly. For them, it is so powerful, such a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, that they are literally knocked right off their feet. Many, like Courtney, are still stunned even when they rise.

_That's… when it all rushed in. It was too much. Everything-- I got to touch everything!_

_Everything above stone..._

Courtney rushes through memories of the world suddenly open to her, by sight, by sound, by _touch_ \-- she can even taste the moon and smell the interstellar medium. It's a heady mix, but her memories are protected by the sensory threading of a Hunter.

She sees her fellow Hunters. Nearly two hundred of them in New York State alone. Each one staggered by the power that has forever changed them, and the world that they taste in its fullest measure.

_There's so many of us. So many reborn. What are we becoming?_

They do not suffer alone. Those close enough to witness a transformation, the bystanders, like Vandal Savage, are blasted back as well. A gentle beginning for associates of Hunters.

She can see them both, in her mind. Her enemy, and herself. There is no darkness behind her eyes; now, there is no behind.

_That poor bastard, the First Murderer-- he heals fast. Worse, he still thinks he's in control. That's not going to end well for him. Still not sure I should care._

The theater of her mind plays on, regardless.

Courtney shudders, leaning on the Cosmic Staff, illuminated in the sparking, phosphorescent glow of its combined defensive field with that of the Cosmic Converter Belt. She is only just now properly filtering her senses and settling into awareness around her. There is still plenty of opportunity to flee, especially where stone can hide.

For her, though, there is nothing to hide. The last remnants of her costume are wrapped tight about her, like lingerie sewn in desperation. Amidst it all, her senses filter through concrete and asphalt and even those last scraps of cloth. The world is in her head, and she is only just learning to touch it.

Even in retrospect, it's a rush.

Words plaster her mind. _T_ _housands_ of languages are spoken within her hearing, and she is learning them all. It makes it harder for her to speak her native English-- just for this one, transcendent moment.

For now, she's left with throaty, quivering sounds more than words. They will serve. She'll take the rest back soon enough.

"Oh!" moans Courtney, wriggling as her myriad senses pleasure her with everything-- the panicked crowds rioting above disturb the air enough for her to sense it, and that is pleasure. The coolness of the cracked and splintered concrete is a data point, unable to chill but pleasurable in its own way as well.

_Shit. I'm not thinking! I'm not… happy about what I'm thinking. I don't think I'm supposed to think of dicks as stress-squeezies. Or boobs as p… NO!_

She squirms, feeling like she's devouring the whole world, and _loving_ it. Deep muscles ripple in her core, in the center of every limb, tightening and tugging on the already taut surface sculpting. Her lips are kissing the air, as though to thank the Pulse for stopping by-- or to try and claim it for another round, by the hot blush running down her cheeks.

The blush anchors her. She's almost back. Almost now.

It knows nothing of shame, that blush, and Courtney smiles, trying to remember what it is that the spindly little eternal Cro-Magnon is pointing at her. When you can perceive most of the planet, despite being only able to see through a meter or two of unworked earth, it's rather hard to focus on a weedy little thing. Tiny.

A fifth less her height and barely half her overall size. A toy in his hand? Irrelevant, no matter what it is.

The question matters; she brooks no challenges.

_Oh, right. A gun._ The thought joins millions.

A word that has returned from the oceans she's hearing. Under most circumstances, it'd be flagged for immediate reference, but right now, she's a bit busy, luxuriating in the afterglow. After all, it would take the fires of a planetary core-- or a star-- to hurt the least of her peers.

The hubris of her former opponent, though. Reprehensible. "Unexpected but not insurmountable," Vandal Savage tells her, his tone every bit as haughty, bored, and dismissive as when he erred first, calling her a cheerleader and then mocking her for not being on the squad.

"Good-bye, Miss Whitmore."

There it is, mistake number two. The first one, the arrogance, is going to be rather more personally painful for him, in the long term. The second, just now, is stupid; the third, later, inexcusably so.

He shoots her.

_How stupid IS he? I mean-- I'm not sure I should object to being more powerful, not if the world is going to change the way it feels. Still! This is even more offensively dumb than calling me PERKY!_

Vandal Savage, of all people, should have known better. It's a rookie mistake, the kind that at least forty thousand years ago, he ran out of repeat plays. Possibly, forty-nine thousand.

It's the sort of mistake that would be in a _So You Have Decided To Show Them All?_ pamphlet handed out at evil job fairs, if they existed.

"When the hero or bystander is stunned after a sudden transformation, do not shoot them. Especially if they're still glowing."

It shouldn't matter that the gun has a setting and is now set for "kryptonian, extremely well done." A sensible villain, at this point, would have already been hightailing it from the scene whilst Courtney recovered from her surprising Pulsing. A foe whose common sense was a little lagging might have made it out when she staggered and wobbled her way to her feet.

Perhaps with a little delay to watch the wobble, but hastened on when he noticed her trail of footprint-craters.

_It's a nice wobble, if I do say so myself. And I do. Mmm._

It really, truly, offends Courtney. Enough to reach her as she feels the first lash of the blast. His people almost killed her family despite all the JSA could do-- and he's this stupid?

Vandal Savage should not have even been there. He who has haunted the worries of the world since the very dawn of modern humanity, the intricate plotter whose myriad mutated descendents are _responsible_ for the metagenes that dominated the old age-- he should never have been there in the first place. A fiend that experienced should have timed matters to retrieve the _Manuals of the Labyrinth_ long before the Pulse hit.

Vandal Savage should not have been there in the first place.

He is, and he shoots her.

The roaring plasma from his blaster strikes first at the energy field projected by the Cosmic Converter Belt. Phosphorescent glows mark a brief moment of resistance. Screaming flames that never would have even given Courtney's new body so much as a very localized tan are met with a first line of defense far more fragile. A strained, ripped, barely coherent first line that's been broken far too often in far too swift a succession.

If she had even five more seconds to recover-- if she had even _two_ more seconds-- she would have been able to dodge his aim like he was covered in glue.

Time is either playing painful favorites, or it is just plain not on her side. She can't dodge. All she can do is watch the blast come while a somewhat abstract and withdrawn part of her mind works out how to make a gun like that for herself, and at least ten different ways of improving it.

Then the electric _heat_ of the plasma bolt strikes the Belt's field, with far more energy than it can convert.

It explodes. Of course it does. It's been that kind of evening.

_Right. This is noooOOOOOOW! OW!_

\---

The echoing, concussive burst that follows doesn't have the omnipresent, orgasmic thunder of the Pulse, but it knocks Savage right off his feet and back into the ill-built and ill-used niche. Perhaps what he does when he awakes can be blamed on striking his head on a remaining overhang-- or the wall behind it-- or when he slides down to the ground.

Matters would have been far better for him if he had simply had the grace to take the KO and stay unconscious. He would not have escaped, but he might not have provided quite so much offense on top of Courtney's laundry list of irritations turned into enraging aggravations-- and her Pulseborn hunger to rape and torment.

The same explosion should have barely tickled Courtney, or else, had it managed to mar that beautiful monster, vaporized Savage for the second time in the last year or two. Indeed, had the same explosion-- with the same energies-- happened even a minute or so later, a tickle would have been all that followed. That, and a final farewell to modesty.

But the leftover energies of the Pulse, briefly stored in the Belt and now unchained, resonate with her huge, hulking new body. Her cells are still in the process of adapting to the wild rush of near-unique energies, never to be rivaled under any star past the far borders of Sol's domain. Suddenly fed by a fresh wave of power that blasts the scattered remnants of her costume clean off, leaving her gorgeous new warrior giant frame exposed, those same cells return to a near approximation of the cataclysmic expansion and overdrive that she felt just a moment ago.

And a fresh wave of pleasure twined with pain strikes every nerve, old or new, expanded or added, in her titanic form.

At least it feeds her well.

She was already too big to fit into her car. Even Pat's best retool on the Star-Rocket Racer just wouldn't have the legroom-- or the knee room. Even a custom-built SUV is too small already.

It's worse than that-- even Ted Kord's Bug airship, the bays built to ferry the Justice League's burlier members, would be a tight fit. It's a good thing she can already outrun the sound barrier. The power feeding her already frenzied flesh is not going to leave pretty much any vehicles left as an option.

Maybe riding on the top?

She's big enough to kiss her dear Albert Rothstein on the lips now, the two-point-three meter Atom Smasher that the Society pushed away, claiming he was too old for her. The renewed surge of the Pulse doesn't leave much room for thought. But it does tell her that _no one_ will keep her from her Al ever again-- she's already strong enough to take on the whole society, and here comes the renewed Pulse!

This time, it doesn't knock her off her feet. Her vast arms fling off to either side; her hands unlock and then curve into grasping claws. She clenches them back to her sides, hugging her overdeveloped melons and abruptly bare nipples close. Not so much from anything resembling shame at nakedness as a desire to feel herself in once-more rapid, rolling expansion.

The arms themselves begin to tighten into expansive flexion as she reacts to the sudden stimulus. Moments before, her arms would have made a linebacker cry, bigger and burlier than his legs. Now they bulge with incalculable might, individual muscles slamming into each other yet fluidly flowing from groove to groove.

The immense muscle-columns of her legs reflexively crouch, prepared for a fight. Mountainous biceps peak to new heights, squeezing against a so-sensitive chest; quadriceps expand like a plateau-canyon maze forcibly erupted from the already sculpted badlands of her thighs.

The bas-relief map of her body is already drawn in the tightest of lines. More tightness, more rugged mass, more-- _more_ is pumped into her by the explosion.

Yep-- she's bigger than the SUV the JSA built for Albert already. She'd have to pull _him_ up for a kiss now, with arms that make her memory of her once-big honey's legs look like spindly things. No, the JSA can't stop her from taking her Al.

Not even Al can stop her now, though she'd love to set him on his feet and feel him squirm against her once-more growing breasts. He'd be at head-height level with her nips now, and each boob is far bigger than _four_ Atom Smasher noggins. The thought sends an extra shudder alongside the re-Pulse.

She never even got to really heavy petting with him before, but as the power surges through her once again, part of her is already planning the first time she shoves her nipple down his throat-- the right one, she's always liked her right side a bit better.

The first moments shudder her, but briefly, her muscles bulging and deepening into unmatchable size and strength. Just a little bit of extra mass all around, as her flexed form and the renewed power pulls more flesh into existence. Like an invisible cable press was settling centuries of sculpting into her in moments.

Once more, if slowly, as she flexes, the stored-up power expands her body. In the first moments, it begins with the abrupt appearance of the usually invisible musculature surrounding her perfect bodybuilder's core. It blossoms, the breadth of her shoulders suddenly looming like she could carry the whole solar system from delt to delt and feel nothing. Her internal framework is only slowly expanding, so she just gets a little taller. Just a little bit taller-- and a whole lot bigger.

She doesn't even smack her head on the ceiling, yet. Still, it's just a teensy bit too much for these tight environs-- she's almost half again her Atom Smasher's already super-sized shoulder breadth.

Uncontrolled by her unsettled reflexes, her slowly expanding right deltoid spasms further than there's room to flex. The edge of her shoulder just lightly taps into the lower edge of the vaulting around the periphery of the room. It's brief, and she staggers forward as though hugging the explosion to her shredded stomach, so there are no further soft slams.

A brief touch, yes, but the devastation is nowhere near so limited. The casual near-caress sends a roaring shockwave out that collapses the sewers for miles and blows the foundations of the warehouse and other commercial properties above right off. Much of the local district, built over fill and existing excavations, simply collapses. The destructive wavefront only stops where it meets hard-packed earth or natural stone.

The changed Earth may be the domain of the Hunters, but it challenges them, and sets limits. Only one powerful entity of this barbaric new age of Hunters and Stealers, of monstrosities ancient and new, can so much as move a shovel of changed Earth. That will be left to human and metahuman slaves, who will have little time to enjoy the protection it gives them against even massed fleets of vengeful stellar nations.

For now, all it takes to destroy acres of humanity's domain, millions of dollars and decades of construction-- is an unrestrained touch. Just a brief kiss of skin to surface as Courtney reacts to the renewed assault of ascension. Nothing deliberate, just a light brush that only gives her a gratifying sense of a lover's humble lips. Not that she's got enough cycles to notice such an irrelevant thing as the crumbling of city blocks. She's still absorbing the power and the loss of her old life.

Dropped in the pain, not even as an afterthought, the Cosmic Staff rockets into the sky, rising like a mournful phoenix ahead of the explosive death of its hyper-technological sibling at her waist. The soul of Courtney Whitmore is unchanged, but the mind through which it lenses is forevermore anathema to the Staff. It will illuminate Jack Knight's path; made Starman once more, grieving, again and again, as he shepherds as many as he can to the stars as well.

Its path soon vanishes, dim against the background of the renewed burst. The light can be seen for miles around, a fresh terror added to a city already reeling from _eighty-five_ of her fellow Hunters. Her scream rises high above them all, and for a moment, even their newborn depredations cease. Ironically, the ruined blocks around Courtney's renewed Pulsing will become a refuge for humans-- for a short while. Instinctively, the Hunters avoid it; even their cruel curiosity pointed elsewhere.

For a little while. In this, they are wiser than Vandal Savage by far.

The solid sphere of light separates into ragged, irregular beams as it inundates Courtney. Instead of writing a new draft of muscular transcendence for her to fill, the new burst of energy is pulled within her bulk and devoured. She feeds upon it, more and more, and the light is consumed with every ragged, quaking breath of the naked giantess.

There's a moment that steps back from the cliff, a relaxing of her too-tight tallness. Her delts pull back to merely deeply defined; her traps to simple titanic expanses of striated flesh. Biceps return to merely the size of not-so-smaller giants' legs, the triceps trailing behind them. Her quads unkink but slower, as though her squirming thighs are reluctant to let go of anything trapped within, whether unfortunate lover or the grind of grooved strength.

The cliff remains.

It all fades in slow contractions, then suddenly slams out again. Each individual muscle, each section of the muscle pounds out with renewed force and hardness, over and over. Each fierce flex pushes the overall bulging body out to beautiful bulkiness, then, moments later, extends itself back to a kind of wavery relaxation.

But not down to its prior size. Each "relaxed" state is further and further magnified from her baseline of mere seconds previous. She feasts and extends in increasingly regular pulsations.

There she goes, right off the cliff-- and to gigantic power she flies.

Each time her lungs exhale, lips parting in a high moan of release and delight, her heart beating faster and faster, she contracts just slightly. Folding in from the hyper-expansion. But the inhalations… 

As she breathes in, she grows all the more massive!

Larger and larger, taller somewhat but mostly larger, Courtney Whitemore _hulks_. Her already immense, powerful system of superbly-formed super-strength swells; her bones break and expand beneath. She stays in beautiful proportion along her colossal frame, though; no one mass dominates. It all comes in jagged fits as she further feasts on the sudden explosion.

The pain is immense, temporarily overwhelming the pleasure of absorbed energy, but through this, this time, she stands.

The pattern repeats. Pleasure mounts as power expands, railing against the pain. She left an athletic and even a weightlifter's frame for superb magnitude in the first expansion; now, among muscle-goddesses, she is magnified still more.

Vast strength collects and tightens-- then titanizes. Just her bicep alone in peak now outmasses Vandal Savage's now spindly-seeming core. The spasming waves of power flex up, and every quivering curve of ultra-solid flesh takes on a gorgeously dense concordance, supporting the whole. Just the one bicep, say the left, her fist curled in unconscious threat, like a mountain to host an entire strength-obsessed pantheon.

An Olympus for Ms. Olympian goddesses.

It repeats and repeats, everywhere on her body. Pleasure consumes pain now like her form consumes the explosion. Her triceps, wrapping around the opposite sides of her upper arm, and beneath the biceps are no less boosted, building their already larger portion of the upper arm into gigantic solidity. The delts grow as though the destruction caused excites them as much as it does Stargirl's clenching cunny, and their power pushes into the traps; carrying the deeper muscles and the superstructure along with them.

The rippling, shredded power of her back expands, providing more and more protection for admittedly impervious organs within and more and more ample support for the ever-more massive pectorals in the front, that expansion in turn overflowing and overfilling her huge tits, the sensations keeping her nipples as hard as her clit-- as hard as the peaks of her muscles. A clench releases, shrinks just a bit-- but only down to the enhanced base bulk.

Her quads striate in inconceivable intricacy, banding and re-banding, fractal definition following the form of the muscles as a whole. Her blonde pubes grow wild as she tucks her legs together, squeezing so tight the very molecules and atoms of the air once between them undergoes fission-- explodes! It merely ruffles her skin a bit-- well. It pleases, this localized destruction; makes her big legs _squirm_ with strength and satisfaction.

Looking closer upon those lovely legs is dangerous for far more than putting your head where Courtney might wish to claim it; there's a hypnotic character to how even the smallest ripple along her quads carries the gorgeous shape of her thighs as a whole. Her knees spread as she gasps, feeling the expansion continue. Her glutes pump out, squeezing together and then twerking her rump like she was shaking it over a newly-conquered cock, and the mouth-watering wriggles are every bit as mesmerizing as the call of her muscles.

The pattern travels, empowering her quads, expanding even the smallest bone and muscle of her feet, her hands, her wrists-- everywhere! She is one of the most powerful Hunters on the face of the planet, one of only two to ever feel a double-Pulse. By power, she's just barely into the top hundred as a result-- barring the Sixteen, of course, but no one counts them the same as other Hunters. By raw strength alone, she's just short of that hundred-- and not very far at that, this former hero! 

But all of this is prologue.

"Oh… oh…. OH!" _That feels so GOOD-- like my first drink of water, only full of happy Courtney Clitty… juice? Aren't I smarter than this?_

It's only when she reaches her final height of three full meters that the orgasms really hit. The mindblowing ones.

Renewed screams ring out. This time, though, they're almost delighted roars or savage squeals. Courtney's lungs are so powerful that her repeated half-coo cries blast and fragment the already shaken walls of what had been an underground chamber.

Now? Now, her uncontrolled pleasure scythes clean the area around her, the center of a yawning pit, forcing them to the limits set by the changed Earth's immovable obstinacy.

_FfFfFffuuuuck I think my first fucktoy is going to have a… uh.. fucktoy, wait… that's bad, right?_

More pleasure runs through her.

_Doooon't care… Courtney likes!_ "Eee," is about all she can manage right now, and similar phonemes.

The shattering storm of sound wakens Vandal Savage. Instead of fleeing, _still_ he looks for the main chance. At least he knows it's all or nothing; more than the aftershocks of Courtney's climaxes are shaking him as he flips through the _Manuals_.

Shuddering, groaning, Courtney's every sudden spasm of gushing ecstasy follows the layering of muscular reinforcements and scaffolding. What few shreds of cloth were tattered around her like the rubble of her old life vanish. Simple, barely-restrained clenching causes the very atoms of her uniform to fuse and explode.

Fully-sized fusion bombs couldn't harm Stargirl now. Writhing with each new wave that seems to center in her clit and nips but echoes with every patch of skin, she just groans, delighted by every sensation. Left bare but never again to suffer even mild natural chills, she no longer glows but seems like she should.

Her mask is long gone, though her blue eyes are unfocusing from more overload than pleasure. Full lips part in hungry air-kisses, tongue flicking over them to taste the last fading gifts of her personal second Pulse. Corded neck slightly tilted to the side, she's smiling around the kisses, her hair falling around her back and over her shoulders. Once no longer than her shoulder blades, her flowing blonde hair has run down to and past her gorgeous ass in a disheveled wave, the strands dancing.

Her taut skin is pale and glistening with sweat, thrumming with the constant deep action of the never-ending muscles within her power-packed body. "More!" she cries out. For all the pain, she desires so much _more_.

It's probably just as well she doesn't get more of this post-Pulsing. The lightest vibration of her skin, tense over bulging muscles, would be enough to crack tanks if she didn't reflexively take care. Still, unlike moments previous, even in her ecstatic state, she's got her body under far more control.

Now, at least, the destruction stops.

Even with her immense arms now hanging slack at her sides, pushed a bit further apart by her brood-bearing, army-crushing hips, you could lay her old body end to end across her shoulders and barely have any hanging off. If she reached even one arm up, she'd have a decent pillow and some foot room. She is _massive_.

Wracked by the power of her dual glorifications, Courtney slumps forward. The beautiful sway of her hips catches her, left knee dipping to hold her from the earth, right foot stumbling forward and setting off another Richter-registering shake. Her calves flex but only with the motion; even her great bulk isn't enough to even lightly strain her toes' strength, let alone an actual full muscle.

"Heh," she shudders. "I… oh, God, I feel as good as I look!"

Her pupils track around her, her direct gaze full of so much that she just wants to reach out and _take_. Her broad quads ripple but do not bulge any further, and her broader-still back hunches forward, her torso curling until her breasts pillow against her thighs. "Maybe… maybe a bit woozy, huh, Patton?"

Her brother's dog is safely with her family in Nebraska. All safe. She can see him as though he was right at her ankle.

All of her hair is hanging forward when the world finally resolves into focus around her. Much faster than the first Pulse, _place_ starts to have meaning. Even without the blackness behind her eyes, even with the ability to perceive in all directions, she resolves into a sense of place-ness, of being and locality.

It took a bit. Courtney can see nearly everything in the world. She sees so far and so well that constellations disappear, the distance between near stars and far clear to her. Her chemical senses, scent and taste, filter the texture of the world, its composition, and she wants to consume all she can see.

All she can see, really, all she can perceive, hearing and feeling and sight blurs into one as her senses reach out to grasp spectrum after spectrum and input after input. Her mind is as greedy and omnipotent as her burly arms outstretched to grab hold of forever.

There is chaos in the world above. "Oh… fuck… Jay!" The Flash, the only other member of the JSA in town tonight, is already trying to do damage control, and she reaches a huge hand out, into open air, trying to touch him. Her head swims, and she tries to force herself to focus on the here and now.

It's hard, for a hero, and Courtney is still a hero, despite what else gets hard from what she sees.

Women not unlike her run rampant over the screaming, panicking herd of humanity, powdering cities and overturning governments. It gets her wet all over again-- the squealing, squirming little superheroes trying to stop them and the giants harshly disciplining their new toys. Some guilt threads into her unabated lust for sex and suffering.

Even the suffering of her former colleagues. The majority of the others merely arouse her, almost as much as the realization that she is mightier than them all. Some few evoke caution, even fear, but they number so few.

Stargirl can track them all, thousands and millions of prey, hundreds and thousands of rivals, strange monsters that are unlike her new kind rising up from the earth, and all manner of other _interesting_ things. A tiny irritant and huge irritation centers her attention-- just a few meters away from where she crouches.

_Oh no. Not him again! Will this fucker not learn?_

Fifty thousand years of habitually holding on with stubborn pride makes for hard patterns to break.

Vandal Savage, seeming so pitiful and wasted before her new heft, is holding an open book in one hand, the other tracing symbols in the air-- at her! Heck, he's standing, the arrogant bastard! _How dare he stand when I must crouch?_

The outrage of it starts to send her to her feet, and she's so fast now that she is on both feet and starting to command him in less than a heartbeat.

Inhaling deeply, pectoral muscles tightening over deeper strength, Courtney gets as far as "Kn--!" before he completes his incantation. _This isn't fair!_ _How did he manage this twice?_

Darkness blossoms from his hands and reaches out for her, choking off the order. Tentacles of it blossom from her forced-wide mouth, wrapping like Medusa's worst hair day back around her throat, stretching to grab more and more of her newly-magnified breadth. She's enraged, thrashing against the sudden intrusion, but her regenerative powers are still spinning up and her sensory overload is still spinning down.

The spell doesn't really work. It can't, for all Savage thinks that the same power that bound Kronos' Hundred-Handed siblings beneath the earth should do the trick. The terrifying, grasping darkness that Ouranos and his son used to lock Briareus, Cottus, and Gyge, the Hecatoncheires, within their mother cannot even restrain one of Stargirl's pinkies; even the weakest Hunter would snap it all the bonds in moments.

But a sudden burst of iciness, clammy, heat-devouring cold that spreads across her skin-- that's enough to push her from sensory overload into unconsciousness.

Again.

Briefly.

Which at least serves to cushion her irritation when the gravity the spell requires pulls them down deep into the changed Earth, past tunnels that shouldn't have been there-- and hadn't been, mere months previously.


	4. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Titan Rite has been completed, foretelling doom for humanity. Vandal Savage has not spent fifty thousand years carefully and painstakingly shaping the course of history to be left behind when ill-conceived meddling unleashes terrors the likes of which the world has never seen! He'll just have to take one of those terrors and make it his.
> 
> At least, that was the theory when he put the transcended Courtney Whitmore into one of the most powerful magical circles conceivable, the better to bind and to control the gorgeous muscle goddess. There've been a few slight stumbles, like falling kilometers below the surface of the changed Earth, and every time he looks at those amazing muscles, even the slightest bulge makes his knees want to bend and his cock harden. Let alone her luscious mega-expanded breasts, almost hypnotic in their projection!
> 
> She screams and wails, Hungry for sex and pain, and actually has the nerve to blame HIM for her misfortunes. The nerve! It's most distracting from his attempts to find some spell, any spell that will let him compel her obedience.
> 
> Her snare on his mind is becoming more and more absolute. If he's not careful... He will end up compelled to serve her, instead.

As they so often are, Vandal Savage's thoughts are on the past, and on plans that  _ should _ have gone well.

For him, the night started poorly, and too early. They always do, in this loathsomely rushed age. Too many scurrying children, newborns who do not yet realize their mayfly status, hurrying this way and that as though they could earn some token, make some achievement, that can stave off death.

They will not. They cannot. They never do.

Vandal Savage has the only true fusion of immortal life and mortal ambition. It makes him the only true adult on this Earth of frantic children. Even reincarnated souls are left in the dust. Acne's bad enough, but having to be a toddler…!

No, they are not his equals either. None have his long perspective, nor his patience for the ultimate long game. Even worse, the majority slaughtered themselves against his express advice, feebly attempting to confine a future full of huge muscles grinding in the face of mankind forever-- set to the thirsting laughter of hungry females.

Their method? It was to be a new super-gaol, as near as he could tell. He trusts no prophecy save his own intellect. Not now. Not after being burned on a "moment of true happiness."

But even before he disregarded the last shreds of regard for divination, he wouldn't have gotten involved in a mess like the Titan Rite. He hasn't just read the stories people wrote about those who struggle so hard to avert predicted catastrophe they force it to happen-- he's watched some of the same idiots do so in person, across different lives, again and again!

Savage knows  _ his  _ plans were solid. Constantine was the last clue, scruffy little badger's otherwise quite commendable paranoia having failed only after procuring the  _ Manuals of the Labyrinth, _ the true text describing those greatest of prisons: Earth Titans. Not the hapless, oft-divided children of Ouranos and Gaia, but creatures like Gaia herself. Or the one known to the Egyptians as Geb, mistakenly called a god.

Those who embody the physical world are the finest of jailers, for they both  _ are _ their jails, and they also embody solidity, the grounding of power into hapless struggle. An excellent idea. In principle.

But based on the pattern of the last century or so, all it  _ should _ have been likely to do was create another endlessly boring superhero or two, perhaps a giant beast to slay, and do little else in the grand scheme of things.

Part of him, still smarting from humiliations millennia past, hopes that maybe it went better elsewhere. That possibly, just maybe, the spell did, in fact, shut those horrendously strong and insatiable women away for good.

That, to Savage, is the best part of the whole panicked mess.  _ No, still, at best, it will snap up the worst, like Candy Mandy or Dragon Lian from the Pacific Northwest, or maybe make an unpleasant surprise for the bothersomely perky Iron Discipline of Florida, and then leave the adults to clean up whatever the backblow did to and for the rest. _

Or rather, the adult, the only true adult in the room: Vandal Savage.

_ There was just a little… stumble. _

Or rather, a very long trip.

_ Fine. The longest trip. _

_ All the way down. _

By now, Vandal Savage has been pushed passed irritation and into near-rage. Unfortunately, those aren't the only emotions leeching his self-control. Fear is a rare gadfly for him these days, but not unknown. Lust, too, that's something he understands, satiates, and moves on-- save perhaps the endless hunger of the First Cannibal to feed on the Earth entire.

It's the mixture, honestly. All of those sensations, on top of a truly enormous headache and multiple still-healing bruises. The fact that he's feeling less pain and more euphoric, now-- that's worrisome. That leads to monologuing. 

Monologuing leads to thwarting.

Savage is fairly sure that being thwarted right now will hurt a lot worse than normal.  _ Especially when I'm so close to having the world in my grasp! _ He tries not to listen to the part of him that appends "again" to the thought.

_ Taken individually, the setbacks of the night are each horrendously irksome and yet not unsurmountable. Starting with the unexpected and wholly undeserved ascension of Courtney Whitmore-- Stargirl. I should have gone back and finished the job those Fourth Reich blockheads botched-- starting backwards by age! _

_ Honestly, I can't believe it! A  _ reject  _ cheerleader, of all loathsome incarnations of Perk, transformed into a gigantic muscle-goddess. _

_ Well, I was looking for a pawn, I must admit. She looks like she'd be a better tool than every kryptonian born before their worlds' end-- put together! _

If only every unconscious flex and squirm didn't tug along every super-sized striation, showing gorgeous muscles that outmasses Savage's entire former goon squad along her impossibly broad back alone--making his knees grow weak with ancient fervor he thought long shed.

He shakes his head. It's still ringing from one too many explosions.  _ All of which seemed bent on not only further empowering said reject and knocking me through rubble-- again! I was Genghis Khan! I was Julius Caesar, and I arranged my own assassination just so little desperate-to-please Octavian would do the work for me! _

He has been pharaohs. He has been emperors. He has been kings; he has made kings; he has ruled from the shadows.

But right now, Vandal Savage, the greatest tyrant history has ever known, is covered in dust and what he hopes isn't too much sewage.

_ This is so undignified. But at least I have her now! _

He was the faster to recover, and bound Courtney with a circle made to hold the mightiest demon lords of the last universe or the present!  _ It should hold all but Darkseid, or perhaps Kalibak in his brutish fury. To that, I added the icy grip of the very prison designed to hold her by what the Rite  _ should  _ have done. _

At least It knocked her unconscious. That had relieved him somewhat.

And then sent them into a horrendous descent, plunging into geologically impossible caverns, kilometers below the surface. Caverns he knows from personal exploration were not here a mere century and a half ago.

But are here, nonetheless. Savage is starting to think that they're existing just to vex him.  _ It's not entirely crazy. I've met genius loci before and so few of them recognize my vision, either _ .

Lit only by a distant sickly, glittering purple and the blue light of a sticky LED lamp, Savage can see the yawning gulf of the cavern they're in.  _ This is not going to be an easy recovery. It's probably more than four kilometers just to the glowing crystals, let alone any exit. _

_ I'm going to have to ride Courtney Whitmore like a steed, it seems. _ The thought adds to the intensity of his sweat, and he tries to dismiss her attraction.  _ Yes-- once I have control, I can use her for anything, and it won't be the first time I've used a musclebound oaf as a horse. Despite the far more bovine excesses of her fat… round... queenly... breasts, just to make it up to the world above. To see what else has gone wrong. _

It's just so hard to even  _ think _ of anything but the beautiful predator bunched up within the far too scant confines of the glowing, silver circle.

_ Everything had been going so well! _

Savage's own plan, working around the edges, had been of  _ course _ proceeding exactly as he commanded.  _ Right up until one of three redundant pawns in place had learned about the other two _ .

_ When will these children finally learn to leave thinking to their betters? It's enough to make one disbelieve Darwin. I wish I'd taken the time to steal his notes. _ Thinking herself clever, the pawn murdered her cousins and hid the  _ Manuals _ away, then demanded a bigger part of the "cut."

Some traits run in the family of the First Murderer, it seems.

_ I suppose she didn't quite have the same slice in mind I did. _ Even in his current, desperate straits, Vandal Savage can crack a smile. He expended quite a bit of energy making it back to life. A descendant of his, she made an excellent cut, indeed. Far better on the plate than she'd managed as a pawn.

_ I just wish coming back hadn't required taking poor Grant with me. This isn't likely to be a kind world for him. Perhaps I'll give him… Japan? I think the woman he was mooning after was from Japan. _

But it's a different woman that inspires his hungers now.

Those hungers, unfulfilled, wrack him away from the memory of the dish, but he manages. The agent did fill some of her purpose, after all. His regenerative powers, already enhanced by the means he used to return from his near-permanent death, are now set for at least a thousand years, maybe two, if he doesn't get killed quite so often.

_ Unfortunately, that cost me far too much time. Damn her bones-- wait, I already burned those. Pencil in 'learn to re-damn bones' at some point after I conquer the world. _

_ Worse, while I backtracked the irksome bitch's trail, one of the chirpiest, bounciest, most irritatingly persistent superheroes of this ebulliently irritating age stumbled onto the same track! _

_ I really do believe I have cause to think the world itself strains against my rightful dominion _

Superheroes like Stargirl always seem to have the kind of luck in such matters.  _ It might make me wish to complain, if I believed the cosmos gave a damn. _ His lust cannot be overruled at this point, but it at least is twinned with a minuscule pulse of distaste.

Even before the Pulse, the brat had nearly had him. She'd been terrifyingly fast, with a weapon both immensely effective  _ and _ tied to the aura of the wielder-- no way to take it.

_ That cost me time as well. Far too much time indeed, since the backblast of the Titan Rite I'd been dreading picked then, just then, to complete. And, of course, exploded just as I finally found the damn books! _

_ Worse, instead of sealing away his old enemies, as I'd expected, it created new ones! _

Including an incomparably huge, clearly and terrifyingly potent muscle-goddess out of one Courtney Whitmore, Star _ girl _ no more.

Just the memory of the strength embodied in vastly banded thews, topped with softly luscious curves--  _ No! _ _ I forbid this... distraction! _

With notable force of will, drawn from millennia of struggle, he manages the forbiddance and returns to his research.

But he cannot forbid himself the desire to be distracted-- and it will happen again far too soon.

_ I'd piss on the graves of the idiot mass-coven of idiots who performed the Rite, only of course, almost none of them left bodies. Still, there are probably some memorials I can deface. _

_ If only I survive the night...  _

The  _ Manuals _ provide him little help-- but they're all the help he has. About the only comfort now, with his sweat turning to ice around him, is that he knows the  _ Manual's _ spells can affect her. After all, they did so before.

_ I'll  _ make _ some memorials to deface, if I have to! If only I survive the practically absurd power unleashed and so-far unleashable within Courtney Whitmore. _

Stiffness flows into him from another source than the desire to bury his head between her pillowy tits ( _ Or those sculpted th--) _ . His head throbs with even more ache than his disobedient dick.

He has never felt this tight within the grasping hand of the grave.

Not even when actually dead. Never in fifty thousand years, not even when Lex Luthor of all rambling young idiots managed to surprise him with a piece of the Totality.

It's enough to provoke some honesty into the stew of his fiery arrogance and the chilling sweat that wraps him.

_ I shouldn't have shot her. I really shouldn't have. That was a real Luthor moment. _ He snorts lightly.  _ Worse-- a Sivana moment. At least if I'd tried deception I'd either be reincarnating or gone from here. Not a good ten kilometers below ground. _

Fingers trembling, senses trembling, almost as though drunk, he searches-- fruitlessly. Finding few answers and knowing his time draws even shorter, he closes one of the  _ Manuals _ a bit harder than he'd meant.

_ Slam! _

The well-bound book closes like the proverbial trap. The scene within which he's trapped opens, yet again, and for a moment, he is unable to cease staring at the slumbering titan in his circle. The strange, purple color radiating from afar-- a building-sized cluster of amethyst-like gems off to the east-- is far too distant to be more than a radiant dark. Alone, it would simply make her look like a temple statue carved by a master's hand.

The bluer, more artificial light joins it from his battery-mounted LED lamp. He's got it adhered to a bit of still-standing wall nearby.

Savage grimaces as his hands shake. He tries to hold them with his usual elegant stillness, flipping his current book closed and rifling through another. He focuses no small portion of his intellect and will on the task-- and it's truly more than he can spare, but it does give him results.

It's all he can do not to tear the pages out as he searches. But he does manage to avoid doing much more than creasing them.

Fifty thousand years of martial arts, muscle control, and just sheer good habits, erased in minutes.  _ Those fools! What did their ridiculous Rite do?  _ Fifty thousand years-- almost all of them as a deadly enemy of the ancestors of the obscenely huge and obscenely nude  _ girl _ collapsed in a heap-- and he's panicking.

Frantic. Past frantic; into dizzy. And through dizziness...

_ Keep it together, Adg, _ Savage warns himself, focusing his mind through his most ancient name. Dexterous fingers trip over thin pages as he desperately reads through the  _ Manuals of the Labyrinth _ and tries not to think of it as searching for loopholes.

It's hard-- almost as hard as he is. Thinking about holes is a problem for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that it makes his dick feel all the more rebelliously aroused. Right now, he's on the edge of creaming his pants just from the state of his mind and the smooth slide of his boxers.

He shouldn't be. He's had perfect control over even supposedly automatic, autonomic, instinctive, and so forth portions of his anatomy since before the last six or so distinct linguistic ancestors of the  _ word _ anatomy were coined. But whenever he looks at her, vast, powerful, and utterly luscious, he can't help himself.

Even when Savage doesn't look at her, his mind's eye does the trick for him, and it is no more under his control than his cock.

She is a living monument of muscle, yes, but even more, to sex and death, the primal urges under which even he was born and for a time bound. His gaze keeps shifting away from the pages, from his work. Each distraction resets his focus as well, making it all the harder.

Of course she's naked; the bitch is now nearly twice as tall as he. Her costume was barely holding on the  _ first _ time, and it died without knowing a single flick of fiery plasma. He keeps urging himself to read the next paragraph, skim the next set of lines, to do something,  _ anything _ other than just drool at the crumpled hulk of a woman, her absurdly compelling breasts so large she looks like she's half on a futon!

The metaphor is a mistake. Images of a lushly curved and at least partially obedient Courtney Whitmore haunt his brain. Showing those absurdly elegant and absurdly massive muscles shifting and squirming, her whole body from toes to hips to shoulder, all of her looking for him. For the rightful ruler of the Earth, and perhaps the universe.

_ Wriggling on some suitably chaise longue, perha-- _

_ Not again! _ The thought is desperate. _ Fine,  _ Almost  _ anything else than her breasts! _

Savage's shaft, usually as subordinate to his will as any other part of his body, is throbbing so hard it feels like it's trying Morse code to shout down the rest of him. He is proud of his heft and the potency of it, but it is a  _ tool _ , a tool used to engender another generation of walking chianti-accompaniment slash organ banks. And at least one truly ungrateful but exceedingly talented true daughter.

Now, his cock seeks to lever him to its immediate needs. It constantly insinuates that it'd be a far better use of his time and energy to run his hands over it, rather than through the crackly pages of the  _ Manual. _

_ Or to rub myself over h… By every conquest I've ever made, by the Sun, I will control this! _

But what's worse is when he's not trembling and furtively glancing at her like a lovesick swain. It's not a cool calculation he rises into. He feels separated from his body, pulling back from it. Losing the immediacy of his shaking limbs but losing the ability to control them, too.

Savage fingers almost slice themselves on the dry pages. He can't feel the sting, but he sees the damage. Wrinkles and folds over which he'd shoot a favorite archivist mark his trail through each tome.

_ There-- if the magic that bound Zeus' siege engines will do, what about the intoxication that did for Sekmet, eh? _ Perhaps he can project something of his own stupefaction into her. Savage has to inhale deeply to keep his words calm and his hands agile for the spell.

It's all unacceptable, this absurd state of his body and the absurd requirements on his control… except that they may keep him alive-- even grant him extraordinary power.

_ Blast. Of all the ill-luck. How could the petty technology of intellectual insects nearly a century back channel the raw energy of the Titan Rite? And worse-- store it, then store more of it in her! _

He manages the chant, and if his fingers shake slightly, the correct glow appears around them. The spell… does nothing, so far as he can tell.

Courtney Whitmore-- he has trouble thinking of her as a girl, thankfully, Star or otherwise-- is still snoozing, unconscious but not inebriated. He knows the signs of either; he's left many like that, if they were lucky.

_ How can she resist?  _ The power of it nearly flummoxed him personally, and the expenditure has drained him all the further.  _ A merged goddess was laid low by this! Locked into a stupor and bifurcated from her fusion! How many hundreds of Hunters worth of energy were poured into one gorgeous woman? _

It had seemed, so briefly, the best of fortune. With the world about to fill with Candy Mandies, here was one-- unconscious, even-- who had to be the mightiest of them all. 

Just looking at her, he knows she must be the greatest. That no other could conceivably match  _ this _ display of unadulterated might, simply shown in her sleep!.

_ I knew Hunters quite intimately of old, and I've seen their noxious descendants, too. _ The thought is troublingly seductive. He has to pause in his search, to close his eyes, just to complete the thought.

_ Courtney Whitmore is far greater than all of them-- together.  _

Unable to bring his attention back to the  _ Manuals, _ Savage shudders. Those immense muscles-- her forearms alone look like they'd outweigh the  _ legs _ of her rapacious presumed ancestors. Yes, he knows them, and he knows that this Sta-- this woman is the apex of their kind.

He's as certain as he was that the Titan Rite would bring disaster as it slammed the cage shut around the others. Logic is attempted. His thoughts wheel. Assumptions are made.  _ Presumptions _ are made.

_ Hmm. _ _ Perhaps… Perhaps it did. Perhaps Courtney Whitmore has inadvertently become the sole inheritor and jail, the lone giantess out of an entire race? _

_ Surely, there is no room on the entire Earth for more than one like her. It must be _ . Savage's mind can't stand the possibility that this vision of exquisitely feminine strength could have a rival, let alone an equal.

_ There can be no other woman so colossal, so curvaceous, so deadly, so delectable and… and…  _ "No! ... damn them all, this is worse than that alternate Klarn! What did those fools  _ do? _ " Even thinking of an evil, effective version of his gladly departed rival didn't squelch his erection, either.

His eyes keep straying to her.

As though pulled. As though the huge bulge of her bicep is already tightening… As though those hands were squeezing around him, and not his fist around her.

_ She should be the perfect pawn, unable to resist! These are the self-same magics that formed the Rite. Then, then she can be irresistible as my sl… as my lieutenant, turned against her former friends and family. That's always a fun one. _

He tries not to think about why he can't even  _ imagine _ the much increased Stargirl as a slave. It worries him almost as much as how much his head swims. A concussion would be bad right now.

Very, very bad.

He's trying not to think about that too much, either.

_ Focus on what their faces will look like when she tears S.T.R.I.P.E. right open for me. That always makes for a lovely twist. _ He looks at her long, bare legs, pale and packed, seemingly broader at their mid than his arms are long. Sees them twist over each other and squeeze in her repose-- a little snap, there, just a little unconscious motion and  _ flex… _

It's her glutes, their mass artificially enhanced by the teardrop juiciness atop. But they're so big; when the flex hits, the banded, tightly grooved masses push up, and suddenly, his stomach wrenches as he watches the rise of an intricately defined, colossal  _ rump _ , like the harshest terrain he can imagine--

\-- which gets worse. The sleepy compression travels. Muscles cram into muscles. A thigh wider around than Savage's  _ shoulders  _ is suddenly so striated it looks like it has more belts than that ridiculously-haired half-japanese swordsman who came through a rift not too long ago. So tightly banded that every groove of the quads looks like it's covered in miniature racetracks, every last segment of muscle harsher and harder than the stone they fell through with his spell.

It's all too easy to imagine what those legs could do twisting around him, and it's far too frightening that the idea only quells him a little.  _ Uh-uh. No more thinking about twists. _ He resolves to focus on the next spell, the next hope.

He does-- but only barely. If she wakes and the circle doesn't hold-- he has to know! So he keeps letting his eyes drift from the 'ancient' book, not even a  _ percent _ of his age… and down to the immense mayfly of an amazon that may yet be his path to world domination.

_ If only focusing on all those swirling, banding muscles would just bring fear  _ or _ lust, I could manage. If I could rid myself of the lust at least, I could even celebrate-- it's undignified! _

Even thinking about the more slender yet always violent beauties who must have been her foremothers doesn't chill his ardor. It's usually a decent trick with the more distracting children of this age of scurrying ants. Remember that you had sex with at  _ least _ five or six better-looking ancestors of each gender generally makes even the most intriguing modern flavor seem a dull variation.

But Courtney Whitmore isn't just larger than the largest woman he's fucked over the millennia. She's larger by far than the largest man he's fucked, too. Several of them. Put together. 

Not counting the size-shifters though, thankfully.

And despite how terrifyingly strong  _ those _ wretched women were--  _ what was I thinking, giving my seed's strength to them? Well, I was mainly thinking about other things, I suppose. To be young, and under ten thousand again… _

Sweat streams over Savage, and his breathing shallows.  _ This is entirely counterproductive! _ Thinking about the first Hunters, so long ago, just ratchets up the fear and the desire churning in his stomach… and just below.

The fear, because they nearly ended him back then-- unaugmented by evolution and the wretched Rite-- before he turned them on their males. The desire, because they were so beautiful as to be a burning memory still. The intensity, because at three meters tall and broader than her well-loved stepfather's S.T.R.I.P.E. combat armor, Courtney is clearly much stronger, much more dangerous, and far more alluringly deadly than anything he has ever experienced. 

Looking at her causes… provokes…  _ demands _ an even stronger yearning than remembering lying in the arms of Inanna, and fear of a greater vengefulness. Inanna…

Thinking of the goddess of war and sex reminds him of one of the  _ Manual's _ segments he passed by. Another spell-- this one to reinforce the circle. And then…

_ Time, I must have more time! _ "Let's see," he mutters, hating the ragged edge of near-panic in his voice. "This should do it-- this should strengthen those wards nicely."

Actually, it's the second of two spells to empower the circle. The first, he completed merely in glyphs and meditation. The latter came oddly easy, but he's trying to avoid surprise equine dentistry at this point.

After all, he has to admit, at least to himself-- there's a chance he's wrong. It occurs to the part of him that's still colder than a snake-- playing dead is an old, old move. So's feigning unconsciousness. And if she has anything like the old Hunter temper… He shudders, remembering the rage as she started to roar at him. That was death, just for a moment.

But she doesn't move, and none of the women of the Hunter clans he's met before or since sparking their little gender wars have ever dealt well with being constrained.  _ I have some time, at least. _

It relaxes him-- but not too much. He is certain that she's out, and that gives him time. Precious moments. Yet, he must spend those moments to gain any more time at all, infusing the silver-glowing circle around the nigh-divine heap of muscle and curve that is Courtney Whitmore.

It glows brighter, the magic he usually scorns a comfort better than a recreation of his favorite chair, lost to antiquity.  _ That should do. _ He forces himself, slowly and deliberately, to put his back to cold concrete.

Inch by inch, he leans down, crouches, then sits, pulling his thighs up to a chest he'd once confidently called broad and now he isn't sure would equal  _ Miss  _ Whitmore's left arm, mass for mass.  _ And that's how it is now-- relaxed. _

_ Speaking of. At least I've managed to force myself  _ relaxed  _ again. That was getting embarrassing. _

As seconds become minutes, neither the chaos of this strange, underground realm crashes in nor the violence barely bound in a five meter circle drawn with every ounce of skill he'd ever known or forgotten. His breathing slows, though he doesn't dare move his knees away from his shirt. The crouch protects him, somehow, he's certain.

The sensation of being drunk or imbibing some trance-inducing mushroom fades slowly. Like his crouching is letting him sink back into his own skin. To be anchored in his own flesh once more.

His shoulders slump, feeling somehow even smaller than the last time he got in a shouting match with Giganta. His eyelids become heavy, though he can't permit them to shut.

Inebriation may be gone, but somnolence threatens to replace it.

Everything is heavy, but everything is so far away.

Unimportant. As long as he doesn't look into the circle.

Slowly, exhaustion wraps around his tightly held limbs.

Slowly, he lets down the fight.

Slowly, he surrenders to rest.

Then--

_ BOOM! _

"AAAAAAHHHHH!" Courtney screams, suddenly jumping to her feet. It's an agonized exclamation, but he has little luxury in which to enjoy her distress.

The abrupt thunder sends Savage instantly to his feet and-- his eyes fill with stars for the fourth or fifth time that night as the back of his skull crunches into a half-dislodged brick.

His scream of pain is drowned out by her far louder, yet still much higher cries 

_ She's awake. And berserk. Lovely. _

The explosive force of her leap and sudden flailing reverberates-- oddly. Stalactites are unmoved, but their scant escort of fallen buildings all around tumble down. They crumble and disintegrate with the backlash, turning to dust within the abyss to which his spell pulled them. Despite his swimming vision and sudden need to regain control, he's drawn to the sheer elegance of her body even in the uncontrolled, unstable leap.

The same leap that shook the very ground beneath them and is still shaking in the mind-bending bounce of her two moon-rich mammaries. He's on his knees only briefly-- lest he stay there forever-- hands franticly searching for and then snatching up the  _ Manual _ most concerned with compelling captives. As soon as he can, he scrambles back to his feet.

_ Yes, _ he thinks helplessly,  _ elegance is still an appropriate word for her, especially in motion _ . Despite the bulk, despite the intimidating heft of her entire frame, even her wrists, every part of her moves shifts and positions with a quicksilver perfection. The scramble has the look of a gymnast's practiced routine. It flows from the balls of her feet and the heels of her palms, flicking to knees and elbows, and curling into her core.

It's not just her motion. The bulk of the big blue-pyjama'd kryptonian always seemed unbalanced to Savage's eye. An extension of the heraldic border around his silly emblem. But this one…

Savage's muscles slack, despite the trembles running through him. His head tilts to the left, and he lets out an unconscious, low sigh. Almost like a groan. This one...

Courtney's bulk and heft looks not only like a natural expansion and extension of the base human form, it expands with luscious symmetry and deadly beauty. The muscles are larger, of course. Far larger, yet proportionate to each other and tightly matched, her myriad striations formed from their intricate connections.

With one leg kicking around and the other whipping for support, her thigh muscles pump and flex with fluid grace. Her calves shift just so, and for all their hardness, bigger than his head, they have balance eternal.

Balance. Power, and balance. Yin and yang owned thoroughly by a single woman. It all melds so much his hand reaches out for a moment, pulling him towards her and the circle, before he snaps it back to his side, trembling before her.

Just like her perfect proportions, the whorls of muscular design make even the smallest extra bits of buff combine to resemble the most gorgeous frame to which a human might aspire.

Savage can only wrench a moment from the contemplation of just a single stretch of banded quadriceps to verify the circle remains unbroken. The jerk lays across his spine like a crashing tree; he almost smashes his head into the overhanging brick once again.

And then, his eyes are slowly dragged away from the  _ Manual _ 's spells and towards her feet…

Like he's being pulled out of his body, into his peripheral vision. Just… not for long.

A half-howl, half-despairing squeal shocks him out of  _ that _ spell. "YOU PERVERT!" Courtney wails at him. If it weren't for the pure pornography of her, it'd seem the whine of a child.

Any gratitude for the cognitive dissonance is lost swiftly. He is no less lost, sunk into her breasts' spell, her weeping sending the colossal jugs jiggling endlessly. No looser from the grasp of her terrifyingly rapturous muscles.

Now he just feels guilty-- like he has sinned against this muscle goddess.

_ Most unfair-- it's not like I took the clothes off her. I didn't even touch her while drawing the circle!  _ Relief tempers both guilt and unbidden lust. 

Much as he had presumed, the Rite's aftereffects-- this… Pulse… couldn't change the soul within. Not even with a body like that, and whatever ancient hungers or curses it magnified. It gives him some certainty, at last.

Irritating certainty, but certainty.

_ Whatever rage her mind might hold for a while, she is still  _ perky  _ and  _ heroic _ , and as silly and controllable as only such irritations can be. Even if it comes with stupid and once more mis-aimed accusations! _

Which is rapidly changing  _ perk _ into something worse: utterly panicked  _ hysteria _ .

Shuddering, shaking, quaking, the titanic former Stargirl is flat-out dancing in place. The jiggles that threaten to overflow her voluminous chest seem to have spread to the rest of her, her hips and legs leading the charge. Her knees bounce and shift between tight-packed calves and gargantuan quads so fast that the grooved press of flesh to flesh seems to be snapping like thunder.

The press of strength seems to enlarge her curves, shifting up into each motion so the unclad twist of her leg seems like a slow reveal from finest lace. A flex from her taut abdominal muscles rolls her belly in place like a perfect Arabic expressive dancer sending invisible veils throughout the cavern. And every pump from calf to quads rolls her hips like she was strutting and swaying towards him rather than wriggling in place.

_ What did the Rite  _ do? _ Even in hysteria she's more graceful than starlight itself! _

Little flexes fall into relentless line with the uneven rhythm of her motion, making the definition etched onto her massive thighs ripple up and down while she sways her mass from foot to foot, skipping from the ball of one foot to the heel of the next, then back to the toe of the same-- and so forth.

A dance it is, but it's a dance set to the tunes piping for the Nuclear Chaos.

_ Beautiful beyond belief nonetheless-- those hips alone, I-- Sun and Blood, I can't think like this! _

Howling all the time, tears forming at the edge of her eyes, she shakes and shimmies, half in place, half-moving to the limit of the circle. Her eyes stay fixed on him, dilating pupils seeming to be frozen while her gold-wreathed head flicks from side to side, sending her straw-colored locks whirling fast enough to create a horizontal halo. No matter how much of it is flung in front of her face, though, he's locked in place by the relentless hysteria of her eyes.

He finds no will to object verbally, though. There's no strength in him to protest innocence of her nakedness and whatever else bedevils her. It feels like if he opens his mouth, he'll be left with nothing but drool.

It's all he can do to turn his eyes back to the  _ Manual, _ away from the beautiful moment of confused hyper-heroine. But the reality of her is so much greater than when she was asleep. Even looking away subtracts almost nothing from the force of her presence. The memory of writhing hips and wriggling muscles is seared into his mind.

It's not just the voice. Far from the masculine a fool might think, her voice has the richness of the earth itself, even in injured screaming. Gasping cries turning into erotic moans doesn't help, of course. She can hardly not-- not with her multi-barrel chest and armored-hard abdomen dripping a deepening of syrup over what should be a far-too sharp series of wails.

No, Courtney Whitmore sounds still exquisitely feminine, but closer to the torch singers of a century ago.  _ Which, of course, was an accidental recreation of some of my favorites from Mesopotamia. Twisting the dagger in deeper, that. _ Her pitch and her tone combine to make her anguished cries and embarrassed sobs seem seductive, like he should try to cross the circle to kiss them away.

_ And not mock them? Am I sure I didn't hit  _ my _ head? _

_ Wait. I did hit my head, several times. _


	5. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battered and beaten by the mere presence of the majestically muscled Courtney Whitmore, Vandal Savage is reeling. As he tries to recall the incantations he believes will control the empowered and ascended Stargirl, her hypnotic beauty and endless, panicked lust have started to work at his mind-- at his soul. Certainly at his cock, unable to stop responding to her wailing need.
> 
> Her body may have become a towering titan, nearly twice his height and far more than that in width and breadth, but her mind seems as innocent as ever. Innocent, and tormented by the furious lusts flashing through her curvaceous body. Screaming and howling at him, blaming him for body's insistent Hungers, she half-jills herself off, half-fights to remain modest. The cognitive clash her panicked berserk is creating is beginning to grind away the vestiges of thought.
> 
> Not a good situation when one is attempting grand magics on the equivalent of fifty thousand years of reading about it on the internet.

Nearly broken in soul by the spell of Courtney Whitmore's panicked, agonized arousal, Vandal Savage has come to a few conclusions.

Namely, yes, in fact, he  _ has  _ hit his head and that a concussion may well be influencing his wavery conception of her.

Even that bemused reverie doesn't free him from the spell of her body, though. It's not just the sight of her and the sound trying to make him feel her, too. Even a bit of unvoiced self-snark can't stay the mouth-watering scent of her.

Savage has lived long enough to know the truths that modern psychology took so long to uncover. It's smell that is the strongest sense in memory, far more than sight. And this gigantic most ultimate of ultimate amazons-- the taste of her on the air is fastening the memory of her to every thought he has.

It's potent without being unnatural. A natural perfume, no chemical buzz or floral tickle. Courtney smells like a hungry smile; like a lover's presence just behind you-- that most of all, the scent of anticipation and satisfaction all in one. Only sweat cuts through it, and it's the good kind of sweat, from a satisfying workout or truly, exhaustingly fun sex.

_ Neither of which I  _ presume _ has happened since we fell down here, but-- The incantation! _

Into the  _ Manuals' _ dry embrace he plunges, his vision murky and indistinct, making him wish for glasses he could then clean. While he's back to trying to avoid shredding the precious parchment pages, Courtney is desperately and clumsily wrapping her thick left arm over super-sized breasts (super-sized, and, by the sudden and lasting flush to her skin, super-sensitive) to try and preserve some ridiculous idea of modesty.

_ I would thank her, if I could without betraying myself to another ear-spearing shriek of 'pervert.' _

Her right hand is below her waist in a comic demureness that would have had him scoffing if the hand wasn't big enough to clasp a fist around Vandal's skull. Demureness has its limits; apparently-- she's shamelessly rubbing her sex over the "guard" of her hand, moaning as she roars out the entirely unfounded accusation.

_ Not that I'm looking too much, _ he reminds himself. _ At twenty or so, she might as well be newborn. This shouldn't be so ha-- ah, so difficult! _

Best not to think of hardness-- either his… Or hers. The outrage that's boiling up past the embarrassment is making Courtney's muscles tense into terrifying hardness, indeed.

Just the vibrating of that quivering, corded neck could crack a steel egg, he's certain. He's forbid himself thinking about  _ hardness _ … And definitely no thinking about the flash of blonde bush before the hand came down.

Of wildness, and wonder, but most of all, want.

Vandal Savage does almost tear a page now, making a nasty fold at the edge instead. Finally, he's back to the circle spell at last-- and its components. With the right spell found, he stumbles up further to his feet, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the same broken concrete once more. Duster flapping around his feet like the folds of a sorcerer's robe, he double checks the spell he's decided upon, and turns to her to use it.

It's a maneuver he's used in the past with quite a bit of success. Making his body shift as though all attention should be on him. Pull himself upward and erec--  _ straight in the spine _ , using body language to roar for respect.

For all of a second, Savage has some self-respect back, at least.

Only to let his jaw hang slack, and unspeaking, at the sight revealed. If the wet dreams of every warlord he's ever crossed blades or fought alongside with were combined, that would be the colossal Hunter writhing before him. While he has been preparing a spell, her enchantment has increased tenfold-- at the least.

_ Is she an amazon's goddess, or a goddess-amazon?  _

Savage can't tell.

Helplessly, Courtney's body, at least six times greater than his, squirms against her own hands. They conceal her and torment her both-- and him as well. The press of her fingers into the soft breastflesh seems almost to scoop her heavy mammaries up to offer them, even as they're hidden. Her face, lips full and blushing as red as her cheeks, is still innocent, but she is forever caught by her own attempt at modesty.

And so is Vandal Savage. The scent of her arousal thickens each time an errant pump of her fingers into the far tit massages its trembling warmth. Thickens threefold every time her wildly writhing hips shove her already soaked sex over her trembling hand.

And every time, the moans and flushing of pale skin are redoubled by the light and enormous bulge of her bicep that follows it. Writhing, her immensely rounded hips roll instinctively forward, hence unconsciously. Unconsciously, thus shamelessly, grinding her need-soaked pussy over quivering, clenching hand.

The cycle repeats again and again, as steady and destructive and as beautiful as when she grew the second time. Savage is left with almost no more control than a male of his apparent age. It's only with a Herculean effort that he manages not to drop the  _ Manual _ nor close it and lose the directions he desperately needs.

His brain feels like it is spinning to the point of nausea in his skull. And his soul feels like it is trying to draw back from his body, never a good thing when attempting amateur magics at the championship pro level on a mere fifty thousand years of dilettantism. The fact that he is abruptly unsure of what alphabet is being used by the book does not help.

As he dips his eyes to try to make the scratches on the paper seem like the words of the incantation again, she leans forward, just a bit, not quite to the edge of the circle yet, but enough to make her fat mammary mountains jiggle and hang low over the sloppy, almost futile curtain wall of her arm. Her ass, just as gloriously wrigglesome if not  _ quite _ so excessively huge, is thrust up behind her as a result, though he can't see much of it, not behind the impossible wall of her huge front.

Courtney isn't speaking now, just moaning. Just whimpering. Her mouth parts and presses sweetly at the air in front of her, and his self-control is tormented down to the very bone yet again. Her huge thighs flex, the snap of taut sinew nearly snapping him out of her body's enchantment. It's just a little tension, swinging her big legs tight together, though. They move fast, the right slapping atop the left in quivering moral panic.

Not that the cross of her legs conceals much more than her hand. For that matter, the indignation in her eyes is soon lost in confused self-loathing as she shame-facedly yet flagrantly grinds her thighs over her fingers. With each new grind, her hips roll in a steady rut. Bright teeth run over the ruby of her lower lip, sucking it in, only to blow back out in a long, desperate groan.

It almost makes him forget there's any threat here at all. She's actually got her knees crossed as she stands, knocking into each other as she whimpers and gasps at him.

_ Oh look. My erection's back. Lovely yet again until all loveliness is-- Gah! Why must my anatomy choose now of all times to rebel _ ?

Thankfully, this time, memory assists his discipline, and not his dick. Especially the stark and painful memories of watching her far-shorter presumable foremothers crush dragons' skulls with their bare hands. And different skulls with their murderous thighs.

_ I have to remember she is  _ death _ , even for someone like me! _ _ Even temporary death like that is too much to be borne. _

Vandal bashes his head deliberately against the wall behind, crumpling his bushy, black mane of hair into the dust-covered concrete again. It's all he can do, seeking to shake the seductive thought that she's whimpering and gasping  _ for _ him. Down that road lies the stupid arrogance of Luthor, and he knows what fate awaits stupidity around a Hunter.

Fear and lust war in him, against each other and his steadily rising will. He's getting himself under control, though sweat soaks his clothes in mirror of her flushed, pale skin. It glistens, too, with something like the same liquid.

His shoulders shift, the blades bashing against the wall behind him as though they could tunnel him out through it. Or help him squirm up and out of the pit-- somehow.

The pit Vandal called them to; by his spell, his will imposed over her. It's a reassuring notion.  _ No. No need to escape. I have her, and I will have control soon! _

It works, for a moment. His brain settles the score with his glands, and he can arrange the appearance of words into the actualization of magic yet again. As he begins to incant, he's interrupted before he can finish the first word!

He glares at the humongous, howling woman.  _ Stupid bitch, can't you at least control  _ some _ aspect of yourself? _ The hypocrisy bothers him far less than his inability to master himself and complete the spell.

_ Watery eyes. _ Contempt, at least, is an easy pattern for him, and another way to pull back out of the moment. To remind himself that no matter what, he is Vandal Savage, the first real victor, the first real murderer-- Cain.

He is the adult, no matter the gulf in their heights… and breadths, and depths. 

His own eyes narrow for a moment, searching her quivering, bare body not for new lurid ventures, but for deception. Courtney's eyes widen, her cheeks flush-- is this real? He has been delayed, and…

He can see no tricks, and yet he is unsure.

No. He'd know. He is entirely certain of that. There are no new tricks in deception, only new contexts. And so few of those contexts are as new as the players think.

_ I am the only adult in a world of  _ infants.  _ I. Would. Know. _

_ So no, no deception-- she's still just a child, intimidating metamorphosis and absolutely bovine teats or not. I am not commenting, even mentally on her hips. The hips conversation shall be had at another time. She claims she's an adult, and under just a teeny bit of world-changing personal cataclysm and rebirth, she folds into helpless blubbering. _

The crying continues, pathetic for all the force with which Courtney screams. "Wh-what have you  _ done _ to me?" she wails. Pathetic  _ above  _ the neck, anyway.

Below, the wailing is combining with the squirm of uncontrolled desire to set her bouncing to utter, almost depraved excess. Wriggling with a shame so pervasive it has become shameless. Threatening to spill the entire mountain range of mammary excess right over the brawny barrier of her arm.

The irregularity of her huge forearm and rippling bicep combine to make it look like invisible hands are grasping where she presses her chest too hard against her vain attempt at modesty. If that's not enough, just barely holding-- and not much of that-- her thick far nipple, her very visible hands do rub by accident and instinct.

Fingers clutch, just past the goosebumped flesh. Each time they squeeze another roll of squishy softness past, the jerk of Courtney's hips follows immediately in ragged time. It's another pattern that sets his mind wandering.

A squeeze in panic, gasp with sensation, grind, more sensation, squeeze in panic. Repeat. He tries to wonder if she's fumbled in the backseat of some drearily gaudy sportscar with some similarly dreary jock.

Vandal can't imagine it, hating the concept of jocks even more than normal. Worse, for all the angelic panic of her face, her pure power is starting to force another emotion. Contempt will not rise, but reverence threatens his resolve, just from the sheer size of her lushness alone! Her curves combined don't even make a quarter the mass of her muscle, of course, but they are so much more prevalent.

The wriggling-jerking motion of her frustrated hips sends her huge jugs rolling and heaving. In turn, crashing waves of soft breastflesh over the too-tight clench of her hardened forearm muscles. With her whole attention on him, it almost looks like they're being squeezed over and at him!

Courtney's squeezing them close, managing to hide the nipples somehow, even managing the areolae a bit, too. Her victory sends lashes of pleasure through her body, pleasured spasms tightening in her belly. Her victory over immodesty is only bought by the squeezing, and the squeezing is constantly adding to the stimulation and the continuing dampness at her cleft.

The press of her bicep, bigger than his whole thigh and impossibly hard even at rest-- it squashes her round, perfectly juicy breasts all the harder, shoving more and more above and below the arm to shake at Vandal.

Shake  _ for _ him.  _ Wait… I… _ The temptation is so overwhelming it almost becomes hope.

The shock of another accusation from Stargirl interrupts his internal struggle. "Van,  _ please _ \-- what did you do?  _ What did you do _ ?" He can't tell if she's trying to entice him or to shame him. 

Probably both. There's a lick of her lips, and an unusual combination of hope and despair in her eyes. It's usually both, for these children, when they get in any kind of trouble like this.

_ Is there any trouble like this? _

Of course, the irritating disrespect of the nickname isn't helping Ms. Whitmore's case. Savage's lips curl in a sneer but he can't-- quite-- meet those teary eyes.

"Don't  _ call _ me that!" he snaps, and she whimpers, inhaling sharply as though struck. Her rocky abs curl back and roll like some stony ocean. Just as though his words punched her right in the belly, with far more success than he could manage-- possibly even more than the Man of Steel could dare to attempt.

But it does strike her, his cracking voice. Rugged, shapely abdominal muscles twist and slide as she tries to get her midsection away from his anger. Which thrusts her chest, two pecs  _ each _ the size of wrecking balls, slamming hard into a pair of wrecking  _ tits _ and sending them careening forward, almost to the very limits of the circle.

Vandal tries very hard not to think what that sudden shake must be doing to the shapely globes of her ass. Very hard indeed.

At this point, he has given up on losing his erection; he can only hope his precum isn't too hard to get out of his boxers. She's not helping.

_ Of course, she thinks I'm doing worse than not helping. _

The sudden motion doesn't  _ quite  _ press the lovely spread of pale breast-flesh up against the crackling, glowing limits of the circle. There might be a millimeter of space; perhaps a millimeter and a half. Her huge arm, now nearly as long as she once was tall, still fight valiantly to bar his view of nipples whose succulent form he will never forget.

She succeeds in that, at least. Still, he has to bite his inner cheek to stop staring at the lovely, plush overage. It crashes over and under the chiseled wall of her limb every bit as much as it flows through her fingers while they squeeze with frantic need.

He has stopped staring at it. He has. He's looking at her neck, and her eyes-- he will not keep staring at the rolling press of overwhelming boob! Especially not as she inexorably plants her arm against the limiting edge, instead.

The circle holds, for now. Snapping, sizzling, glowing, the electrical shock crawling over Courtney's squished melons causes her to gasp and shriek while miniature lightning outlines the opulent pillowiness, but it holds. As it holds, her breasts press against the inviolable limits, not-quite flattening out like they were being pressed against the inside of a titan's water glass.

The reaction below her sucked-in stomach, behind the inadequate guard of her wriggling right hand, is even more distracting. Worse: compelling. Femmecum flows, and each time she shrieks with renewed jolts, it gushes over her fingers yet again. Savage has to wrench his neck back, jutting his chin forward to force himself to look  _ up _ .

All the while, her long hair drapes past her shoulders, bracketing her face like a torn veil. Both of her eyes are open so wide the lids seem to vanish and only her long, pale lashes remain, but one blue eye is half-hid behind a long, errant lock. Waves and waves of separated strands run down, down past her corded neck. 

As Courtney's dry. thirsty mouth opens and shuts again and again, the wavy strands fall like her tears over her impossibly perky globes. All around them, too. Some disappear into her cleavage like spelunkers' ropes; others cast off over the sides and wrapped between pythonic arms and the vast tree trunk core of her body.

This, somehow, is worse than just her squirming blubbering. No-- worse than he imagines her fist might be. He hopes.

_ Perhaps if I bumped into it, rather than the other way around. _

For all she's been blessed with arms that would size-shame the Delphic Python of old, she hurts him all the more simply by ducking her face down and a little to the left. Trying and failing to hide her bright-blushing face and more and more dilated eyes behind the wispy, loose strands-- like a veil torn from one those maddened oracles. Accompanied by the constant tears that fall like rain about it-- it's so much worse.

Courtney shaking, shimmying, wriggling,  _ writhing _ hips have a victory all their own-- over her abashment at the very least. That his pride seems to be negotiating a settlement to force him into adoration of those jiggly hips is suddenly a matter he can't even be repulsed by.

Parts of Savage's mind even more ancient than his sense of self urge him to reach out, to pass the circle and test whether or not they are as smooth and vast as they seem in their constant rut. But they have added a sensual horror to it all, for in her attempt to conceal her bared sex from view, her palm is pressed against a clit that he wildly imagines must be as hard as his cock.

And Courtney's fingers curl around the puffy, arousal-swollen nether lips, teasing her inner wetness and adding the flush of constant pleasure to the blush of inhibited terror. Every time her rugged shoulders shift one way and those hips-- those maddeningly gorgeous hips-- move the other, she fucks herself over the very fingers that she hoped would shield her.

Moaning cries of pleasure tainted by shame follow, made all the more tasty by fear to the most ancient of sinners. Their pitch and tempo, short, sharp, "Ah-ah-ah-aHHHHh!" wails assault him with lust and a hunger to satiate that lust all at once. Combined with the twisting veil of her hair and the gem-brilliant glitter of her tears, her muscular majesty seems to be so less important than her terror and enforced wantonness.

He is beginning to think of this titanic amazon as, well, vulnerable.  _ She… can't… I… _ His thoughts are no more at his command than his cock.

Something snaps.

The fight is lost, for a moment, for Vandal Savage. He's paralyzed, unable to keep speaking. The half-horrified wails of Courtney Whitmore are driving all thought from his head. Each scream comes between full lips that press apart with uncontrolled longing and fruitless reticence.

Her hips and her breasts and the beauty of her muscles' unlimited power have their victory. But stripped of all but the barest vocabulary or even sanity, she has a victory as well. Her blue eyes pierce him with their twin flames of unstoppable guilt and untamed lust. Lust that is not hers alone, he is certain, but it's so pervasive he can barely think.

She can't even seem to form full words right now that aren't, "Oh!" or "No!" Not with her hips' partial victory. He's not really sure that, "OoohhHH" counts, and is very certain "UnnnnnfMMmmm" does not.

The entirely obscene jerks of her lust-riddled body is becoming etched in his mind. Worse, she is so vast in there as well that the scene devours anything close to it. As he watches her muscles harden, only to fight against her hips' incessant war to sway at him, the combined abundance of lurid enticement is invading his deepest memories, his oldest--

His best.

Without any seeming effort or design, Courtney Whitmore is erasing the memory of both his first lover and his best, not-so-slowly wiping them from his mind.

He forgot their names long ago, even the one who entranced him like no other. Of course, she died, too, in time, and now this absurdly magnified  _ girl _ is killing her memory as well. He shudders, bracketing himself against the ruin of a wall, and as the last, dying thoughts of that long-ago woman's face fade from his mind… he rebels!

"Back!" Savage commands, and immediately enforces it. His senses snap back into sharpness so swiftly it's painful, but he drives on. Snarling, he finds sudden focus in his outrage at this  _ thief _ , this musclebound barbarian's inadvertent assault on his memory.

Cries of "Ahhhh!" becomes screams, and her speech at last returns in despair. "No--" at least makes it out before being interrupted by a scream that turns into a howl of, "It burns it BURNS hurts hurts! PLEASE NO!"

He roars the chant he'd stumbled through. The circle resonates with his voice, and the electrical pulses over her barely-hid breasts become lightning storms, crawling over a body that would have shamed Heracles and any three clones. The arcing energy digs into her like claws and tears scream after scream from her, jerking her back and away from the glowing edge.

Her howls would tug on the heartstrings of even the foulest villain of the age-- but Savage has none of those at all. When she staggers away, weeping, each movement showing perfectly outlined muscles, perfect of form and ferocity alike, he repeats the spell with the enhancement verse. The storm rages within the five-meter containment, vicious energies lashing over huge muscles.

It's painful, perhaps even regrettable, given how much of a child she is, and simply always will be. But it is his rebellion against her body's endless domination of his world. He refuses to bow to any. So he plunges forward, and ultimately, well...

_ Regrets are for lesser men than Vandal Savage! _

In truth, there's a deep satisfaction to it all. A triumphant bell ringing out in those pained cries. Here's a woman who makes Gorilla Grodd look like the more recent Atoms-- and surely now dwarfs Superman's strength so far even Luthor would sympathize-- and every square centimeter of every last one of those insanely enhanced muscles is being  _ saturated _ with the pain of every prisoner of every long-departed god's ironic hell.

Savage's ragged breathing slows to a near-calm while her screams reassure him that as always, the situation is under his control.  _ I don't use magic often-- too unreliable-- but it's certainly got its good points. _ He focuses on the power that is almost within his grasp.  _ No one can save you now! _

Much like Courtney retained her grip on the Cosmic Staff throughout her first transformation, she holds her ridiculous attempts at concealment (and subconscious masturbation) throughout the punishment wave. A part of him that once trained  _ bo _ students in ancient Japan had some approval for such dedication, but any teacher's empathy dried up in him long ago.

But there is only so much point to torturing such a naif, brutally enhanced or not. Breathing slowly, he lets the spell cease. She slumps forward but still does not reveal the full blossom of her naked beauty and naked power yet again.

_ I wish I could force myself not to regret that. Er, to lament. Laments are more proper to my dignity. _

She totters back, more distracting wobbles following. Her jaw shifts, confused, her eyes flicking all around the room, as though searching for some hidden partner of his with the whip.  _ No. I am in command; it is my will alone! _

The glow of that triumphant inner declaration warms him-- briefly.

For she has, indeed, re-mastered the arts of speech. No matter how much he likes begging, relief from pain that he controls is not what she most desires from relief. In fact, it is relief she desires.

"I'm so fu-fu-freaking horny, Van!" Courtney starts to spread her crossed knees, then wails, slamming them back shut with a cabling pull of huge muscle along the lengths of both knees. "So horny it burns. It's so hot, so hot so deep in my stomach and it's flooding me, like every time I--"

Sobs choke her voice, turning into a shuddering, low moan that puts a very temporary smile on her face. "Every time… Mmm… Every time I--" She swallows and at last finishes, whispering, "Every time I c-c-cu-cum I'm turning into fire!"

It's the only time she lowers her voice enough it doesn't make his brain ring. He tries to divert her, starting to say, "That is not," when she abruptly renew her panicked aural assault.

Starting with another long series of writhing moans that turn to keening as her climax hits and her sex soaks her subconsciously-probing fingertips.

Long hair flowing as she tosses her head around, she whimpers, "Van, please--  _ please stop this, Van _ , I don't want to burn I don't want to  _ burn! _ " The last repetition is almost a direct demand  _ for _ sex rather than to be freed from the relentless desire. 

Savage can see it in her eyes. Her will is being overcome yet again. But not by him. He recognizes the victor here, and wishes he had the command she is so desperately certain he possesses over her.

He's used aphrodisiacs in the past. Chemical or alchemical, the effect is much the same when applied to some goody-goody like Courtney Whitmore. Naivety is being replaced by the purest, unfiltered lust.

It's remarkable in some ways. He might not have heartstrings, but there are some shreds of pity in him, it seems. The sound of her destroyed innocence shocks him straight down to the core-- but from far worse things than pity.

_ Even if I could trust that her intentions to me were merely for relief, I'm dead the moment I cross that circle. Or the moment those thighs wrap around me, anyway. _

By will alone, or perhaps with a justifiable caution he refuses to call fear, Vandal Savage forces himself to breath normally. Mostly normally. At least, with less shuddering gasps.

Mostly.

By the dint of vast experience, he goads himself, reminds his persistent anatomy that the unlimited, deeply lurid beauty of her body comes from the same source as, say, her gigantic, rippling leg. A single limb-- far bigger than his entire frame. Were that treetrunk limb attached to, some merely human bodybuilder, she would be able to beat him to death with his own arms. 

Empowered by the cosmic-magic explosion of the Pulse?

_ Her big toe could turn me into a fine red mist. _ Shudders wrack him again, but his erection actually gets worse.  __ The mortified muscle-goddess shrinks back yet again as ferocity fills his face.

But it is his own rebellious anatomy that is the target of his ire.  _ Cease thinking of that as  _ attractive! _ Immediately! _


	6. A Truly Savage Stargirl, Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranting and frantic to escape the sexual heat thrown upon her by the Pulse's transformation, the titanic mega-amazon who was once Courtney Whitmore hammers herself against the bounds of one of the great mystic circles-- a runic inscription designed to hold the very gods themselves. Vandal Savage must now fight his own growing arousal-- and worse, his own growing desire to worship Courtney like the muscle goddess she is-- lest she overwhelm his mind and draw him in for some explosive amatory conclusions.
> 
> Quite probably literally.

Vandal's body-- and the darker recesses of his mind-- refuse to entirely cease thinking of the savage strength of Courtney Whitmore as arousing. He  _ does  _ manage to pull himself up to his full height and truly direct his glare at the titanic woman's eyes…

Mostly.

Some of the effect is lost since he has to glare  _ up _ at her, now two-thirds again as tall as he and something like six times as massive.

Thankfully, the glare at least makes her shrink back into her self-embrace, at least. She begins to beg him, "Please, Van--" Even if she hasn't stopped fingering herself while "hiding" her sex, it's something.

But not enough.

"I am Vandal Savage! Drop this ridiculous nickn--" It's his turn to choke back his words.

Courtney is at the edge of the circle again. There's nothing ridiculous about her now. Her eyes are almost full-white, pupils rolled back.

Her lips no longer look like they're kissing. As she once more throws the endless lushness of her chest against the punishing crackle, she's parting her lips vastly wide. Rapidly inhaling, hollowing her cheeks-- like she was sucking on some huge, invisible cock.

When she finds nothing, she pulls her lower lip in over her teeth in a randy pout, then begins to  _ lick _ the jolting, invincible barrier with the same faux-fellatio enthusiasm.

Perhaps inevitably, Savage's shaft reacts positively, despite his dire attempts to convince himself it's a contemptibly weak offering for the greatest tyrant history has ever known.  _ Sloppy! H-hasn't she even gone down on a quarterback? Behind some stands, or in an automobile somewhere? _

He tries desperately to dismiss her, to fit her back into the same 'mayfly child' box he's successfully slotted all such obstacles into in the past.

But...

But it's really not the most helpful thought as Courtney starts to make the cock-swallowing motions again. With little choking gurgles and clutches of her throat like she is fantasizing about swallowing a shaft in deep. The fact that her lips are parted for a shaft far bigger than his  _ arm _ is humiliating as well-- almost so much as to be intimidating.

_ Almost! _ He has to lean on the word. He can't be honest with himself about how much it really does humiliate and intimidate.

If he does, if he lets himself contemplate it for more than a few moments--  _ I'll be back in this spiral again! No! _

His lips curl back from his teeth, but it is not a smile that he reveals.  _ It's of her cause, damn her, regardless of whether or not it's her fault!  _ He has to grind his teeth together, but he wills that she read his intent in his snarl.

_ If you can't control yourself, Miss Whitmore-- I'll provide the incentive! _

Vandal Savage, right in himself again or so he hopes, has no mercy at all. The First Murderer will not spare a child, especially not one who thinks of her twenty years as equal to adulthood. He growls out the incantation, and blasts her yet again.

Once more she's driven back from the edge. Once more she's the one left shuddering, hunched over her own gigantic, terrifying body. Limbs that would do a fair impression of bridge girders-- that could hold up the world entire-- tremble and shake as though in arctic cold. Wracked and chilled, her eyes squeeze shut, unable to stop the flow of tears.

Reassurance lingers. His breath slows. Not to normalcy, but it slows.

Courtney's shadow is the only thing that crosses the glowing circle. Though it's cast by the weaker glow behind her, it somehow swallows the light in front, swallows  _ him. _

The spell requires a real expert. All of them do. Vandal isn't a member of  _ Homo Magus _ and he doesn't have the same reserves of mana. It's exhausting for a dabbler, forced to burn his life into the spell, but he has life-energy to spare.

Not to mention, he's been a dabbler for so long he has more expertise than many who perished in the Titan Rite.

It's working. For now.

"It's time to end this, Miss Whitmore. I suggest you don--"

The whimpering comes to the fore once more, breaking his concentration and interrupting the incantation he hopes will put chains into her mind as well. "Van--"

"That's no--"

" _ Please _ , Van! Please stop hurting me! Please stop making me want you, please, please, it's horrifying how much I need you-- please, Van,  _ please! _ "

"Well, that's ju--"

" _ PLEASE!" _ Sobbing uncontrollably but her eyes wide open with berserker fury, Courtney bashes her head against the restraint of the mystic circle. The lock is folded around her like the whole universe had pinched her off, but to his horror, cracks of nothingness appear in the air.

"I need  _ sex _ , Van! You did this to me! Give me sex! Give me YOUR sex! Give it to me!"

Each screamed sentence is punctuated by another bash as a perky cheerleader's prim resolve shatters faster than the knots of reality the circle holds around her. Each time she slams the crown of her straw-blonde head into the barrier, more and more nonbeing cracks spiderweb from the point of impact.

Some heal as she pulls back, sealing back into the fabric of reality-- but only some.

As she tightens her quads, throwing her whole body into each ramming assault, she screams the word "please" over and over again.

The cracks are horrors not much less than the Hunter herself. Perhaps more. Jagged lines of nonbeing-- of nothing, cracking in and displacing  _ thing _ -ness from all around.

He can admit it at last to himself-- especially since he can't talk.

Vandal Savage is terrified down to his very soul.  _ Th-this spell should hold back a god!  _ But a physical goddess, wailing, weeping, and cumming over her own hands, is bashing herself into it with an insane attempt to drive a horrific hunger for sex out of her mind

That desire, he remembers. That, at least, has not been magnified all out of proportion-- it already was. They were insatiable, those women.

He last slept with a Hunter tens of thousands of years ago, but he remembers putative  _ allies _ that hardly let him away from the cave-floor furs long enough to take care of other biological necessities. All but their oaths would vanish in their urge-- their drives, really-- to fuck endlessly. No male could ever satisfy them.

_ Honestly, I did them a favor, and their males, too. Back when I turned their violence against their men. Who could live up to that kind of expectation? _

They're tiny thoughts, though. Less audible than a whisper would be beneath Courtney's constant, "Please--"  _ BASH _ ! "Please!"  _ BASH _ ! "PLEASE!" screaming.

He's having more and more problems thinking like that-- contemptuous, distant. Three of the cracks cross over each other. A simple triangle, drawn in a shaky hand.

A sudden, horrendous not-darkness claws at his eyes, devouring the blue light but only part of the purple. Cold of the heart follows-- he doesn't dare touch the not-dark-- from merely considering what the balance shifting portends. The crack swells and sweeps out along the curves, not of Courtney Whitmore, but of the circle surrounding her.

For now. Thump after thump after  _ thunk _ after  _ thunk _ after  _ crack _ follows. Courtney seems completely mad, bludgeoning not her battering-ram arms, but the crown of her head, flung with the full force of her immense muscle.  _ Thump _ !

The rolling flexion and extension runs from those ball-sized calves to barrel-sized and banded thighs, both full of gorgeous definition, all the way up.  _ Thunk! _ Her abs seem to spasm, like the will to thrash and whip against the barrier comes from within them.

They form sharp inward curves then it all slingshots back around from the top.  _ CRACK! _

Courtney doesn't stop. Slam after slam into a mid-air repulsion that pits her strength against the gravity of the very stars in the skies, unstoppable. Her pillowy tits heaving with the force of the massive pecs behind them, she just… keeps… crashing!

She's altered the chant now. "Please, Van!"  _ CRASH! _ "PLEASE, Van!"  _ CRASH! _ "PLEASE VAN!"  **_CRASH!_ **

Chanting the first syllable of Vandal's name and begging, she plasters herself into that impossible barrier. Over and over-- it should be utterly fruitless. Gibbering like some merely centuries-old sorcerer to himself, his mind tries to deny the efficacy of her insanity.

Except even a totally insane cultist could see otherwise. Except for that not-dark. Except for those little, almost organically curved shatters.

The fuzz of his senses vanishes, for a moment. An ancient word, common to no language spoken in the modern day but more or less precisely like  _ FUCK! _ screams in his mind.  _ She's breaking through! _

Whimpering, "Van-van-van," and "Please-please-please," and at long last "Sex-sex-SEX!" she hurls herself relentlessly against what  _ should  _ hold armies of sun-saturated kryptonians-- no.

She throws herself against a barrier which should hold saiyans even in the grips of god-instinct! The barking cries should be ridiculous; Courtney apparently can't even ask for dick, and he's sure she mumbled over the word penis at least twice, suddenly gone soft mid-scream.

The ridiculousness of it all makes him woozy-- but angry.  _ I have no time for such foolishness. None! _

He's exhausted, his limbs grown heavy themselves, weight beyond the limits of their own strength. What's worse is the sensation that  _ her _ arms  can carry him from across the gulf of reality.

Across the fragmenting circle.

There's much worse on display than even a lust-crazed woman with enough muscle for any eight amazons. Even one crazed specifically at him and blaming him ( _ Unfairly _ !) for the lust in the first place. That must be attended to first.

_ Courtney Whitmore's puritanical complex will have to wait-- please, I have to focus! _ Savage is unsure he knows whom he is begging. It would usually be himself, if any begs at all even escaped in a thought.

He's terrified he's pleading with other Powers, the ones hidden behind the White Gates. He wishes he knew. The last time a Rite even close to the Titan Rite was attempted, it was to seal those Dark Giants back.

The cracks are everywhere now.  _ Those  _ are the real danger. Probably the circle's retaliation will keep Courtney away long enough for most to heal, but they're leapfrogging out from it.

But that's already in effect, already forcing her away with more and more pain, more and more bolts of force. Still, she hammers. Still, she comes. 

Vandal is old enough to remember the Crawling Chaos as it laughed over Egypt, wearing the skin of a pharaoh but it was always a soul far worse than even he. Does fifty thousand years make even this giant terror a child to him? He is not even so much as that, scaled to the Great Old Ones, or the far worse masters they herald.

"You foo--"

"I NEED! NEED!" Courtney howls, breaking through his attempts to stabilize the circle's magic. Her horniness breaks through being raised by the most boringly vanilla of boomers. It's terrifying.

Even if he escapes, he knows that tonight will be etched into his brain forever. The sight of a little "girl" of twenty turned into a behemoth whom Ishtar would fear.  _ Presuming there is a forever if those cracks overlap too much! _

He stutters on a bit, and then she roars, "GIVE ME YOUR COCK, VAN! GIVE IT TO ME!"

Gibbering, Savage finds speech abandoning him in fits and starts. Leaving him half-casting the circle spell and half-not.

A slamming, slapping noise heralds the addition of two more assaults on the circle. Her head apparently isn't enough, and her desire at last wins its war with her repression. Nipples larger than pop cans are the tip of her mammary assault, her whole huge torso crushing against the bounds.

And against his last bit of self control.

_ His _ head is becoming endlessly fogged and dazed again.  _ I feel like I'm already on those b-bo-bov-- beautiful, bouncing, bobbling breasts, tossed about as though at sea, and-- lighthouses… dark… pink, by my own name and hand,  _ pink _ lighthouses! _

"Light…" Savage moans. It certainly feels like the two nubs are guiding his eyes in. In where… 

He is far too stupefied to be certain. The sight of those perfect, globular tits forces his gaze and his mind to follow them, squeezing and squishing as though against some science fiction glass-and-lights version of a dancer's cage.

Courtney's divine knockers spill forth, nipples fully erect and shattering even more of the unreality cracks into being. It's no longer just her head and chest, either.

Now, her fists, curled into hammers, pound again and again. If it wasn't for the jagged gaps of nonbeing they're poking, it might be almost comic as the force with which she jams her chest against the absolute limit shoves her areolae over the crinkly nubs, almost enfolding them.

_ Ah… there. Guided… there. _

Again and again she hammers herself into the barrier. She with pounds almost everything above the waist, both fists, both breasts, her head, eyes shock-wide and pupils staring so heatedly his shaft almost burns with hardness. Now,  _ true  _ flexion shows, rippling out from bulging forearms to biceps' whose volume of muscle in one alone would outdo that of the full body of the average american male.

The shock of the sight, of terrible beauty wedded to overflowing strength, desiccates Savage's mouth. His lips feel cracked as he runs his teeth over them, suddenly too heavy and slow to bite down and force himself out of this trance!

His mouth, nothing-- his body feels dry, stretched, and crackling.

Just from watching her.

Courtney is completely bare now, not just her low-hanging, barrier-battering boobs. Her soaked thighs are utterly unconcealed now, spread wide. They tremble and splay into a crouch as both fists hammer at her confinement. The two statuesque legs opening apart like the gates of some vast temple. A temple not merely employing sacred prostitutes, but to some divine wanton, lascivious above all.

Even the action of her vicious assault intensifies her magnetism-- and sensuality. Her flexing and shivering makes for an unconstrained show of her drenched pussy, even the blonde-furred mound soaked by the incessant swirling of her fingers. Even the fragmentation of space-time seems so distant to simply lusting after the breathtaking power and pulchritude on display.

Savage tries to rein in hormones that should have long ago slipped completely under his reign.  _ If she breaks through now, I won't have to worry about having my pelvis powdered or reincarnating thereafter. We're all just going to die to the Unnamable! _

It's motivation enough. Savage has been tripping over the spell for-- minutes? Hours? Lifetimes?

_ What is the time of a life? _ he wonders, and tries to trace the letters of the spell with his index finger.

Units of time and its passing swirl in his head. Numbers and glyphs, graphs and chants and charts-- he can't seem to hold onto them. Vandal would not be surprised, were he told that  _ weeks  _ were spent watching those luscious melons quiver.

That those weeks passed with him doing nothing more than fearing the blows of those fists, lost in the labyrinth of her fractal web of muscles.

Just the curve of Courtney's belly reveals endless miracles of physiology. The ripple of her abdominal muscles visibly accelerate in lewd display of in and out with  _ breath _ alone. That pornography is, then accelerated by her wailing and magnified by her mad assault on the circle's limits. Hypnotic-- but, in some ways, clarifying.

A warning every bit as screamed as her words.

At long last, Vandal manages the spell. The cracks become reality again with loud POPs, and another explosion of elemental pain compels her to the center again. The tenor of the cry it evokes is more orgasmic than it is tormented by far.

But at least and at last, it forces her into shivering and silence, immense muscles taut and quivering.

He slumps down to the ground slowly, knees to his chest again. "You stupid wench!" he groans. "You could have killed us all!"

Savage has to laugh at himself.  _ Wench? I don't want to see the bar she'd s-s-- she'd work at. _

Further error. He forces himself not to think about Courtney and bars, of weight training and the pump of iron and... And he fails at forcing.

It's only the curling grasp of her voice, and the yank of her tone, that drives those thoughts from his mind.

Courtney licks her lips slowly, at first. Slow, and tender. Moving from one corner of her mouth to the next, tilting her head as she watches him.

As though she is deliberately forcing him to watch the travel of that bright red tongue-tip.

As if… "Hey Van." There's a horrid, tee-hee giggle to the giant young woman's voice now. Deeper by far than her botched banter from before the Pulse.

Still, it carries the same loathsome  _ perkiness _ that he'd hoped was stored exclusively in the gravity-defying heft of her breasts and ass.  _ Apparently not. And yet still, I… _

Thought leaves him. He can loathe her voice no longer. It calls to him, pulling him up from his crouch.

"Mmm, yeah," Courtney purrs, her head shifting back and forth as her eyes devour him. His jaw drops at the change.

A half-smile quirks along her lips, and she nods to him. "C'mon, Van." Her gaze travels up and down him with such hunger it feels like she's the one who's captured him.

Courtney's perky, giggly voice is interspersed with moans of-- satisfaction?

Savage refuses to rise. His sense of himself is pulling back and away. Slowly but certainly.

Far away from this debacle and this sudden physical divinity.

In this abstraction of his self-ness, he feels some odd sense of…  _ Of contentment!? How can I feel content when-- _

She refuses to let him think. "Hey-- hey Van!" she all but squeaks at him. Like a roc, chirping at a newly hatched chickling. Only the ridiculousness of it saves it from being pleasurable.

_ Still shaking in pain and fear, she's become squeaky! What did I ever do to des-- _

"Van, hey," she laughs. "Hey, Van, guess what, Van!"

The cognitive dissonance burns even more than the spell's cost. Gloriously naked, giggling, and titanically strong, she bounces back and forth on her feet, her tits taking the place of quadruple-sized pom-poms.

They don't need glitter to hold his eyes and she doesn't need to touch him to force his mouth open wider. Saliva pools at the edges, like some inversion of thirst. His jaw feels like it's in another body entirely, its ache a message from a minion, radioing home.

His return missives make it just in time, letting him avoid  _ completely _ drooling like a teenager himself. Just barely, though, the threat ever-present as he stares at the waves of succulent flesh. Ever-present, and, increasingly, irrelevant.

Her breasts wobble on.

Not just waves. Not just curves. Waves must come to shore, and so does the shaking of her magnificent melons. They crash home against the harshness of rocky musculature in tight-packed bands radiating out around the oceans of smoothness.

His left hand slams against his forehead-- no, taps, as though his strength has faded with the spell. Still, he presses his palm in as tight as he can, trying to drive away the seduction of the strength towering over him.

_ I am Vandal… Savage! I am the First Murderer, the First… Can I… think… I am the First Cannibal! Cain! This is  _ meat _ , not a reason to compose poetry comparing the grooves of jiggling fat to the vibrating striations of muscles in regular, swift flexion-- I… _

"Van," she breathes, her corded throat pulling back and up. Her heartbeat throbs so loud he isn't sure it won't break the last of those reality-cracks wide open.

Savage trembles, head shaking into his palm.  _ I will triumph yet! _

His teeth grit. She seems not to notice, hands wringing at her sides as she shimmies. Each wriggling shake gives her cause to celebrate. And  _ how  _ does she celebrate?

"Vaaaaan! Van! Hey, Van! C'mon, Van! Van! Van! Oooh.. yeah… Van!"

By near-squealing repetitions of the  _ disgraceful  _ shortening of his name over and over. But he can't dismiss her as a child any more. Not while still  _ very _ clearly showing both the glistening traces of her release all over the endless muscularity of her thighs and the similarly slick signs of her arousal.

Growing, not dwindling. Just like her eyes widen and her pupils dilate. Just like the deepness in her groans of satisfaction.

Courtney's pussy clenches beneath blonde pubes. "C'mon, Van," she purrs at him, but he can only choke out sounds. Her engorged labia sway and wave with her every motion and the weight of her unsatisfied desire. They shudder, faster and faster with her giggling jumps-- and faster still as her sex thirsts for a fat, ready cock that  _ should  _ fill her.

Fill her, and quench her.

Ache throbs in him to make that fulfillment-- and yet, shame penetrates him, as well. Stiffly erect, he certainly feels ready-- yet unprepared for the requirements. Twenty-five centimeters in length, ten inches to these disorganized Americans; and a not inconsiderable girth that nearly matches it in circumference.

All of him feels entirely inadequate for the lust that once seemed to thunder through Courtney Whitmore.

And is still so immensely, intensely clear in every squeeze of thunderstorm thighs, propelling her quads from extension into huge, chiseled ranges, and the visible stiffness of her clit. All of it in shameless, wondrous view.

Vandal can hardly miss it-- sitting, now, he can't meet her eyes past the mass of her wobbling mega-melons, but he  _ can _ see how hard her clit is-- even if he has to look up to do so. And he must look, the aching need to satisfy that clitoris' ache barely locked by his will.

_ I never thought I'd miss the  _ demure _ perkiness. _

Then, he's saved by the cognitive dissonance of her chirping, "C'mon, c'mon, guess!"

Breathing heavily, he points a shaky finger towards Courtney. "I… shan't play this-- Cease!" he howls. She just smirks at him.

Abruptly, he remembers her disheartened face at his sarcasm. Reminding himself again that bending her will is still his goal, he growls, "I've still got more than enough juice to wipe that smile from your face, you would-be reject cheerleader! You'd be thrown off the  _ football _ team for steroids, and--"

It fails-- utterly, and she lashes him with sweet pouting. "Aw, that's  _ rude _ , Van!" she breathes at him, as though she spoke lovers' praises. She juts her chin at him, and groans.

Which becomes a purr again swiftly enough. She looks at him through lust-lidded eyes and pants out, "Can't even look a woman in the eyes when you're squishing her hopes and dreams, insulting her childhood?"

The pants become giggles. Courtney is taunting him in still-squeaky chortles now. Her hands are together again, covering her impossibly hard abs while she giggles on.

When she says  _ squish _ , her palms come together in a steady motion like an industrial press. Her fingers wrap and twine tightly, strain. The strain travels to her forearm, becomes bulging, fibrous masses of muscle, looking bigger than his thigh at least. Then, in moments, the gripping "squish" travels to her upper arms.

Savage is painfully aware that it's more than fancy, imagining how hard those grooves squish--  _ squash _ \-- together, and how squashed he'd be between those fists.

Then Courtney turns away just a bit. Turned, she makes a wet, half-slurping, half-smacking sound. His brain flounders in its haze, then comprehends.  _ It's her tongue over her lips again _ , he realizes.

And realizes how much her breasts are blocking his sight-- her lips are now all but hidden from his perspective. Well, not her nether lips-- and their steady drip.

"I hope you  _ do _ have enough juice." Short, sharp pants accompany each word as she returns to moaning. "That felt so-so-so good…"

The 'ood' rolls on into a groaning 'oo.' As Savage tries to interpret her statement, fear is banished by lust once more. Her gaze sweeps him as she crouches down, bright blue eyes staring relentlessly at him from behind her hair's mess once again.

All the while, he still can hear, can smell, could even see if he could break the trance, the quivering of her sex still dripping shamelessly into pools beneath. "Hey, Va-a-an…"

"Sto--!" 

She interrupts again. "Hey, Van!"

Van… dal has had one too many shocks tonight, not to mention the constant drain of arcane maintenance. His aching thoughts are inches from incoherence.

He needs to rest. Courtney is relentless.

"Hey, Van."

"I tol--"

"I've been reading your little books this whole time. I can see through things. Neat, huh, asshole?"


	7. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful, vast, and terrible, the muscular mini-giantess named Courtney Whitmore has driven Vandal Savage to the point of lunacy-- almost precisely literally, especially if one considers the lunar awesomeness of her ass! By the use of jiggle and flex and scream, she has pushed him to do the unthinkable.
> 
> Lower the magic circle keeping her-- somewhat-- constrained. Now, she is loose. Now, she Hungers, desperate for pain and sex.
> 
> His pain. Her pleasure.
> 
> It's time for her to take what belongs to her.
> 
> Everything he has.
> 
> Everything he is.
> 
> His entire everything... forever.

Vandal Savage's night has gone from bad to nightmare. Despite failure of the idiotic, suicidal efforts of the world's shamans and sorceresses to trap the horrors known as Hunters, he _thought_ he was gaining some measure of control.

It has proved to be fatal; a final delusion.

The blue light cast from an LED above him is swallowed under the shadow of Courtney Whitmore's monumental breasts alone.

All is purple and shadow. Three strikes. He had three strikes.

The first strike-- He'd been inconceivably rude to Courtney Whitmore, known as Stargirl, projecting his disgust with the modern age onto her. He was so nasty that he managed to make a lasting impression, especially when he mocked her love for Albert Rothstein.

Then, he made a rookie mistake. He shot her after her accidental transformation into a "normal" Hunter, looking every bit as gorgeous and deadly as the enemies he'd thought extinguished nearly fifty millennia past.

The plasma bolt should have charred even Amanda Candice, the _incredibly,_ even violently perky-- and perkily, insanely violent-- apex of the pre-Pulse modern Hunters known as Candy Mandy.

It would have sent the bothersome Kal-El into deep shock, possibly extinguished the Last Son of Krypton, at least for a little while.

Some nigh-random bitch with what must be lucky genes and damaged hypertechnology should have been just so much dust on the wind.

But she had been glowing, and just been through an energy-fueled transformation. Doorways of possibility were still open. It's a mistake many villains either don't live to regret or never live down-- enhancing or creating your own nemesis by doing something to catalyze an unstable situation.

Such as, say, shooting someone who has survived a large, destructive burst of energy, has already been endowed with vast powers, and is still glowing.

The memory sears him nearly as much as the raw panic of being within her grasp. _I'd forgotten about the damn Belt. By my father's name I share, I'd blame the Totality Shard, if I only had-- the time!_

But he has no more time left. Because he made himself _matter_ to Courtney Whitmore. Then, to compound matters, he shot her, and all _that_ did was give her a second pulse. But absolutely and completely inexcusable in its stupidity, he, a dilettante in magic grown to mastery through thousands of years with which to dilettante, tried to bind her in a mystic circle and control her with the deepest magics of Tartarus.

And so she showed Vandal Savage just how little control he had, once he made himself important-- of sorts-- to her. He let himself be manipulated as easily as he might maneuver a government's Treasury department to leave their servers and passwords in his possession.

Trivially. The last few minutes are replaying on endless loop in his head as she looms above him. The present slows, and the burning, bitter shame of it all is her brand upon his mind.

She has kept him babbling under the pretense of being uncontrollably aroused, more and more, screaming for sex and cock, pleading with him, begging him for relief, begging him to stop the supposed flame of lust he supposedly forced upon her with the transformation.

_I can't believe this. She did it. Interruption after interruption kept me from making full words-- but did "allow" me to incant the counterspell._

Her dark blush doesn't have a hint of shame. It never truly did. This is pleasure, alone. Courtney slapped his mind into place as easily as though he'd had his head in her cleavage.

She's quite pleased with herself for her little game, almost as delightful as the orgasms she gave herself along the way.

The third strike. She's out.

Tall beyond the nightmares of NBA centers and broader than any three of those put together, Courtney Whitmore is now a _colossal_ monument to female muscle, built with a fractal frame of compound musculature that keeps a well-shaped whole. Indeed, she is a personification of sex and strength so enticing that just staring at her fecund curves is to be drawn into a terrifying passion and humiliating awe for her.

Naked, blue eyes glittering like sapphires, she glistens, covered in the sweat of her seeming privation mere moments ago. The droplets shimmer in the violet and blue lights of the cave, looking like beads or gems dripped down her curves and making her appear even more like some primal icon of feminine muscle. 

All are called to the temple of her body. The dark red of her fist-sized nipples are erect, every bit as stiff as her clit, outlined by the blonde wildness of her pubic hair, hints of green from where LED, waist-height to her, casts its blue over, her legs--

Her legs, his everything, knelt at her feet--

And from there, spilling down over her drenched, puffy labia. The remnants of arousal and orgasm have covered her terrifying thighs in a jewel-like wash, even more eye-catching than the sweat.

All are called.

Regardless of one's usual standards of beauty or indeed, sexual orientation at all, the form of the former Stargirl does not so much carve out an exception for herself as jam herself onto the very top of the list. Whether someone prefers male or female, hard or soft, her over-ripe and over-muscled femininity becomes an object of lust within moments..

Once anyone sees her, even from just catching a glance, she conquers their lusts like she conquers Vandal's escape attempt. Simply and swiftly and surely. An onlooker might be still permitted to keep their own preferences-- so long as they are properly beneath the desire for Courtney Whitmore.

She has certainly seared precious memories from Vandal Savage, along with what might pass for calculation. For far too many moments, all he can do is calculate is the best way to please, and how great the gulf to what she deserves.

Courtney is softness more lush than any well-pampered princess; and she is a hardness that would make the most harshly-regimented athlete weep. Her her hips, still-wriggling, are rounded over that terrifying hardness, but that's not the softness which is lashing his self-control the most.

Blessed with breasts each four times larger than basketballs, the crown of her head mere centimeters below a regulation hoop, their plush is perpetually supported and perky-- mostly. There's nothing false about their shape, both looking natural and alluring in quality despite the unlikelihood of their, ah, quantity.

Gravity, it seems, is permitted just enough freedom to add a tug and wobble, perfectly symmetrical masses that pull down from insanely vast pectoral muscles. He's left drooling, and it's not like she's going to worry about back pain.

For all her soft-seeming breasts, the main mass of Courtney is packed in ever-striated might. Her chest especially, broad, dense and powerful, less a backstop and more a wall of strength. Like everywhere else on her, the banded muscle at the core is limned by fractal musculature.

All across her body, the grooves tug on each other, pulling each set of consort muscles into microcosms of the whole. It seems impossible how tight her power is wound upon itself, and yet hints that strength will come to her call just as swiftly as worshipers. Swifter..

She's taunting Savage in squeaks and chortles now. Her toes wriggle on as she drums them, raining destruction. The circle is disenchanted, broken from the moment she stepped down, never to be reactivated. But while she is busy feasting on the humor of it all, just tapping her toes is enough to powder the remains.

Her hands are together again, covering her rugged abs as they flex and extend, roll and shake. Courtney laughs on, and some part of him is happy for it. After all, it means she's amused…

For now.

She laughs on, and on, only stopping just as he's about to lose the dignity of fifty thousand years by weeping at her laughter and her beauty. Or more likely, masturbating, and with that, give in. Each laugh is exquisitely modeled in her muscularity and echoed in her jiggle.

One again, the corner of her left eyebrow quirks in a swooping curve, parallel to her half-smile.

Furrowing her brow in consideration of Savage's weakness, her blue eyes stare at and through him. Bright, they stare from behind strands of hair once more in exquisite déshabille, while her similarly-adorned sex still drenches the powder and craters of concrete beneath. She's so close.

And she's out.

The shock of realization is so sudden, so terrible and so all-encompassing, that all Vandal can do is drop his jaw. Slack to its limits. Other than that, his paralysis is complete.

He is forced to watch while she puts a far-past-size-thirty foot almost delicately down onto the arc of silver. The glow of protection is long gone. Nothing can save him now.

"Oh," she says, disappointment fading into a moan. "I thought you said you had the _juice…_ Really?"

The way she moans "juice" makes it sounds like she's ready to drink him to the last drop, but he has no time.

She shakes a finger at him. "Now, now. Don't run. It isn't going to work." She is trying to be compassionate. Of sorts.

 _The stutters. The interruptions, and the stammers, and…_ Savage can't think. Can't plot. Can't even speak, let alone prevaricate.

Somehow, _Stargirl,_ of all people, has maneuvered him like a witless pawn. Somehow, she has goaded him along, forcing him to stutter out the counter-incantation. The circle… is broken.

The exhaustion of fifty thousand years is nothing compared to the fatigue of this moment. It rushes through his limbs, collects in his chest. Down it goes; like he wants to.

The only light around them is a mixture of shadowy purple and burning blue. The lights mingle, then ripple as they outline the giant predator before Vandal. The combined light kisses every curve and striation of her body with love.

The purple streams over her face, devilishly gleefully; her broad shoulders, chiseled with destructive power and broader than his more than twice over-- even over her cleft, an amazonian blonde bush soaked and dripping still..

Even Courtney's abdomen is illuminated, the blue staring over rocky packs of muscles from below. Then, to the left, there's a glint-- it's not just her smile. It's a clash of purple and blue light, crushed at the border between her colossal left biceps and her elbow.

Her arm shifts, and the mass of muscle fibers roll over each other as her hand opens wide.

The movement is familiar, somehow, despite the distance forced on his mind by exhaustion and other debilities.

 _Ah._ Something clicks. She's reaching for him. "Gonna fucking show you _juice_ , you little son of a..."

Vandal's legs know what to do, or think they do. The moment the second insult lands, he's trying to leap away, but she's far too fast for that. "Nuh-uh _._ "

In a burst of motion to shame the Flash, she's on him. Ruthless fingers grasp his hair tight, the jaws of the trap slamming shut as they dig into his scalp. Agony follows. He cries out-- screams-- as she yanks him out of his flight and off his feet.

In response to his cries, she glares, but her voice strokes him like a lover's harshness and a ruler's tenderness all in one. "Mine now," Courtney tells him, then gives him a near-smile. "Mine _forever_."

And that is it, in many ways, for Vandal Savage. Back when he thought he was in control, he lost the first battle. In its wake, he is left unable of thinking of her as anything other than the most radiant object of desire _possible_ , let alone as the mayfly he once imagined. His millennia-spanning goal of world domination became less important than having her.

Or rather, of being had.

Her second and third forays hit him together-- a pincer to the brain. All along, of course, Courtney was levering him into releasing her. The circle's light fades; less a monument to that triumph than the intensity of her _closeness._

But her method was a lightning-fast raid on Savage's resolution all its own. As she manipulated him, as she played with his mind, she was breaking down his will. Her beauty alone, ripped power and rippling curves, would have done it, but casting again and again drained him nearly as fast.

He'd thought he could detect all deception. _I was such a fool._ Instead, the cognitive dissonance he'd thought was saving his self-discipline was her cat o'nine tails, flogging across his composure like his upraised back.

In her grasp, all too late, he recognizes the genesis of his incoherent dizziness, and worse, of distance from his own body. Entranced by the exhaustion, spellbound by the pain.

The war is lost when she grabs him. Courtney subjects him to harshness and softness yet again. Casually dealt, harshly done.

Vandal Savage has haunted civilization since before a home was something you could build. He's long learned how to escape from almost any trap.

It's the work of a second for this colossal woman to snag him. Hard muscles move with powerful grace, and she grabs him like he was a pup, taken by the scruff. Any last splinters of dignity, let alone arrogance, are crushed with those huge fingers, longer than his hands.

Just like she could crush his skull if she chose to grab that instead of his hair.

Something breaks in him-- well, a _lot_ breaks in him, physically; she's not gentle as she pulls him back. But something far more fundamental is fragmented in his mind, leaving a fifty-thousand year old warlord squirming around, the whining plaything of twenty-something Courtney Whitmore. The trip to eye level shatters much of the rest.

Courtney is nearly twice his height-- it's a _long_ way up. His gaze is forced to follow every sensual groove and every harsh line of her massively muscled body as she does so. As he sways, side to side, it's clear that he isn't even disturbing her tricep to haul him up by the head. They're barely shifting, let alone her pecs, each alone bigger than his torso, behind her mammary mountains.

Those jiggle on, but not on his account. She leans in, her head twisting lightly as she licks her lips and inhales. The groan that follows is deep and echoing all around him.

Slowly-- she's taking her time, now, the intense smell of her arousal everywhere around the ancient once-predator who can't even think of himself as Vandal Savage anymore-- slowly, she pulls him up to eye level, feet dangling.

"Asshole," she calls him again, contempt sneering across her face now. "Mm. Don't _ever_ make me promises you can't keep. You said you had the juice for me.”

She leans in close. "I was being honest-- a little," she purrs at him, eyes nearly shut. "I'm so _hungry_ , Van-- and that pain, it was so delicious. But it doesn't have to be my pain, pretty little man. So you can produce, or else…"

Savage does not, cannot produce anything now. "But," he grunts, then shakes, vibrates, like an addict fed a thousand years' worth of detox in a heartbeat. He is left desperate, wishing for the euphoria of mere moments ago.

But that haze will not come to him; she wants his attention, so… she has it.

Courtney's grip tightens. "We'll get to _butts_ in time," she hisses, and pain shoots through him like lightning. It's not so much an actual exertion of power as simply not bothering to be quite so careful, and it almost tears his hair clean off his head-- by the roots.

She's just barely making a fist with the grasping fingers, and yet…

And yet she is a Hunter, and Van is not. So he screams as he feels his skull starting to crack, just brushed by her fingers. He can't even form words, let alone beg for any mercy.

Laughing, she slaps him, palm gently tapping his jaw but shattering bone from the moment of contact. Leaving a bright handmark burning over his cheek. Her mark on him.

The grin on Courtney's face takes on the pride of possession. Pride for having, not pride for having him specifically.

She does adjust her hold a little. "Stay with me, Van," she growls as her fingers pull back. His pain recedes but does not truly ebb. He dances in the air like a hanged man, but she maneuvers him around.

Courtney doesn't have mercy. Not for him. Her grip shifted just enough so that he can remain conscious... by autonomic expenditure of his body's regenerative power. Continuously.

Suddenly, the fact that his most recent feast carried thousands of years of survival seems a haunting last curse, indeed.

But his crying displeases this muscle-goddess, and once more, he is scourged by her distaste.

Her breath is hot now, her huge chest heaving furiously. "Quit it, you whiny little bitch," Courtney growls. It goes straight to his spine, and he quiets to little whimpers immediately.

"Aw, poor little thing," she tells him with a snort that becomes a snarl. "That wasn't even the fucking threat." She makes an elaborate sigh, then swings him about to face her left side.

Her head tilts with the move, chin tucking towards him enough to look at him out of the edge of her direct vision. "Just watch," she whispers, the light in her eyes more feral than that of any berserker he's ever seen.

When Van can't move his gaze, focused on her, the corner of her left eyebrow quirks again, following the wicked lift of that corner of her lips. She seems to like the expression now, and it suits her, but he has eyes for nothing but _arm_.

Savage is treated to quite a show. There are muscle fetishists who'd sell their entire fortunes and their souls beside just to see the bulges rolling along the huge arm she stretches out, completely flat. Such mere pikers might think her upper to be at its peak, seen in isolation.

The bicep in question is immense; the skin drawn so tight at to be vibrating. Perhaps they'd think such a peak to be a mountain, indeed. A volcano, shaking from an eruption moments away.

They would be wrong. After all, at "merely" half again the height of the biggest NFL fullback, she's got a bicep at rest which is more than two times the best such a former luminary would be able to flex after months of work and the best trainers.

Van knows because that's how he sees it. A volcano surrounded by a stormy sea. Even though he knows that's not the end.

Her arm does not stay in extension. "Watch," Courtney repeats, still a whisper, insistent as a whip.

He must watch, or else die forever. He can't argue, can't speak, can't even _think._ Just watch-- and yearn.

Did she show Savage a volcano from a stormy sea before? This muscle is a new _island_ , just in itself. Not a single slope but the combination of millions of years in one lingering swell. Like multiple mountain ranges together to form one titanic peak. It goads him with more than mere strength-- the perfected form from her threat flows over him, shocking millennia of training to the core.

Like the touch of an uncalibrated violet wand, that shock makes his eyes widen and his dangling body stiffen. He's left craving and silently weeping from it, his shaft hammering on the imprisonment of his pants. That might be the greatest dissonance of all.

Her smile broadens. "There we go," she groans. "Stay with me." Then she kisses him, just on the cheek.

Trapped, sunken deep within the changed Earth, his plans disintegrated around him long ago, the half an hour or so past an exhausting diversion on the part of the embodied _force_ that is Courtney Whitmore, in terror not merely for his immortal life but for pain and humiliation of which he can barely conceive…

Despite the ongoing tumult of abuse, Vandal Savage, the First Murderer, is still rock hard. If his dick could become more aroused, it would. Suddenly, it does-- his body's constraints no more limiting on her than anything else he can bring to bear.

As he dangles at her mercy, he stiffens still, shaft screaming in pain and screaming for him to find some way, _any_ way to please this muscle goddess. To be used for her pleasure, not its own, and certainly not his. Less and less of him finds the erection dissonance; more and more, a goal.

As he watches the giantess named Courtney slowly curl her hand into a fist, his dark tan skin flushes with redness, just like his cock. "Do you see, Van?" she asks him, her voice as tender as her fists are not.

Pain-wrung sweat all over his body is refreshed as it screams at him to find some way, _any_ way, to worship that arm's immense might. Once more, he feels drawn back from the scene, as though rotating around her to get a better view.

 _Yes, Courtney._ Thoughts at last, but they feel like someone else's. _I see._

It's his eyes that widen now, his pupils dilating. He may not have the same absolute need to have sex or starve, but the maw of her sensual superiority engulfs him and forces him to participate in _her_ need. For all his ancient mind is desperately roaring for his body to obey, it is swallowed by that desire and he has no secret or safeness against it.

He's helpless and helplessly turned on as he never thought possible. _No!_ He screams at his mind as it fills with contemplation of that sculpted strength alone. _I am Vandal-- Vandal Savage!_ What little hubris remains rebels, but it is squelched in moments. _The First Cannib…_

Hunger indeed forces its way into him, as he watches this giantess' already burly forearm first break any definition of brawniness with the pump, then break any definition of _definition_ as the perfectly sculpted lines and curves of interlocking muscles push out beneath her taut skin. 

"Ooh," she says with a groan. "Almost there. You hungry too, little guy?"

It's a hunger to lick and a hunger to suck at the murderous might and brawny beauty before him. Every anatomy lesson or study Savage has ever done flashes through his mind-- along with the impossibility she's displaying.

"Hey Van," Courtney whispers. He doesn't have the strength to object; he's just trying not to start jerking his hips back and forth in the air.

The strength? He doesn't have the desire to resist her renaming in the first place. Not any more. His head hangs, full of the weight of her attention-- her desire. "Can't-- don't…"

"Hey, Van, _pay attention!_ " she growls, and he does. His neck jerks up, like lightning was stiffening his spine. He has to take it all in, consumed in the consumption of vision. Hunger, endless hunger.

Courtney's fingers tighten. Taut skin begins to vibrate. Bulges build, from wrist, to forearm, to upper arm. Like watching lapsed-time construction of a statue honoring strength.

Van only hopes her anger has an end. It flashes like a thunderbolt as she snarls, "This _still_ isn't the fucking threat you weak little pain-slut!" The contempt on her beautiful lips is as much of a lash to him as the spell had seemed to her.

In an instant, the heights of paradise and damnation are reached. "THIS is the threat, jackass!" she crows. She brings her fist up, faster now but still keeping it visible to him. Her other hand is still grinding her knuckles into cracking the pate of his skull, but he can't stop staring at her.

At feminine muscle, triumphant.

His eyes are torn away from the muscles still expanding on her forearm to be enraptured by sheer size of her bicep. He's helpless. All the pain in all the torture in the world couldn't stop him from watching in wonder. Wonder, and lust that is magnified by the agony she grants him.

His body knows no limit of pain; his mind, nothing of restraint.

The rocky island becomes a continent. Expansion! Strength beyond the physical, housed in gorgeous layering of fibrous, banded flesh so hard it'd crack an egg made of steel. Yet so defined and so controlled that the contents would be unharmed.

"I burnt Xanadu," he whispers. "Out of mind and out of the world-- and it was never so beautiful."

She smiles, for a moment. But she's still flexing. Power grows with her muscular expansion, and it carries rage to power the entire Red Lantern Corps with it.

Up and up that bicep grows, gigantic to start and not stopping there. Every centimeter added in diameter displays its own galaxy of tight-packed grooves, both bicep heads and the center alike covered in bulging veins that flow with the same form as the muscle. Smooth, shiny skin that looks so hard it hurts to stare at them stretches and multiplies, clinging to the vicious forms beneath so that he's spared nothing of the compound muscular power of her curl.

"That's the fucking threat, Van," Courtney rumbles. The lilt in her voice is etched with anger-- no, Hunger, that same Hunger that drives her against him, to the threat.

" _Now,_ " she snarls. "I need _sex._ I need _pain._ I need it all! I warned you! I warned you, and I offered you the _easy_ way. So now, dear Van…" Fierce in her need, she kisses him on the lips, hauling him tightly to her chest.

Her tongue twines with his, but Van can barely feel it as she conquers his mouth.. There's a rush in his ears, a flood of euphoria slamming through every corridor of his mind. It wraps around him, insulating him from the pain and bringing bliss out of agony.

"Now, we play, little man," Courtney whispers, breaking the kiss. He can barely hear her, but her words sear what little of his mind is not consumed in the perfection of her flexed arm.

It's so perfect Van is suddenly engaged in a life-or-death struggle not to orgasm right into his pants. Just a single upraised muscle at first. Before his eyes, it's joined by similarly over-endowed consorts, and a man who has had every indulgence of the last fifty millennia fifty times over is nearly climaxing.

Just from the symmetric and fractal wonder of this massive super-amazon's flex.

Nearly?

Vandal Savage-- no, Vandar Adg-- is weak. Weaker than the smallest single fiber of muscle before him-- and he can all but see every last strand of titanic beauty being pumped up before him. He breaks.

"Skraʕk!"

The word is so alien to modern ears that it engages Courtney's curiosity. That's probably the only thing that mitigates how she punishes him. It's screamed, a piercing cry that echoes off the cave complex his spell thrust them into. He wails it just as that glorious bicep reaches the maximum stage of expansion, and he wails it unbidden.

"Huh," she remarks, watching and listening to his cry. "Bit much?" Her flexed arm uncurls, and smoothly wraps around him to hold his ass up. He dangles, nonetheless, and his scream intrigues.

More, the ancient word is screamed with such devotion and submission that she forgives the interruption. She doesn't forgive what follows, of course. Yet the word, wailed out from deep within his puny chest, is so reverential that it earns him some measure of indulgence, too.

There are fates worse than death, and Savage earns them, saved only by that measure. In endless pain, humiliated beyond anything he had ever dreamed possible, under the threat of that huge bicep and its implied dominance of his entire future…

Vandar Adg cums like the little bitch Courtney Whitmore makes him. It won't be the last time.

His balls are filled to overflowing, and so they do. Twenty-five centimeters of cock-- a measly offering before this goddess even if ten inches had surprised past lovers-- bulges, his cum traveling along stretched seminal vesicles. Thrashing, his buttocks tightening and his thighs stretching, he cries out to her, calling her something like a totem but implying so much more.

Climaxing, shrieking, crying out the word, again and again, he spasms back and forth, hips moving as though she'd forced her sex over him already and was squeezing out every last drop of cum.

It is a word of his people. It was invented before goddesses themselves. He left its use behind tens of thousands of years ago, not deliberately; just fallen into the gap of millennia. It did not take him long to disdain even the Blood spirits whom he once called upon in battle as unworthy of _him_.

Perhaps Savage once meant to make it his own title, some day, when all the world was to be his. More likely, he simply forgot it along the way. Now, he is forced to remember; now, he lays it at her feet.

It's a sacrifice of a kind even a Hunter might value, from rarity if nothing else.

It's not enough to buy his way out of _disappointment._


	8. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worship. It has been a long time since Vandal Savage thought of any being as being truly more powerful than himself. Since he believed there were any who could put their stamp upon his destiny.
> 
> Courtney Whitmore has stamped all over him. Her huge muscles contain within them more power than every punch he's ever thrown in anger, every skull crushed, every foe vanquished. For every one of his forty thousand years. Her eyes see the makeup of his cells-- of his brain; her other senses fill in every blank. And her mind has become so much greater than his could ever be.
> 
> But now she must feed. Torment, pain, and sex. A Hunter's Drives flow through her constantly, no more so than now. Pulsing. After a life fairly empty of savagery and sadism, Courtney Whitmore needs to dominate so badly it is literally killing her.
> 
> Time for her first real meal.

Held high in the air by a titanic Hunter, a super-muscled woman with immense beauty to match immense power, Vandal Savage has been made to cum. Abused, mocked, tormented, his dick seems unable to control itself, splurting again and again.

Courtney Whitmore, the Hunter in question, massive even for one of her kind at three meters tall, might have given him more than just broken bones to regenerate for his ejaculation. She wants a disciplined slave, after all. But he howled a single word, "Skraʕk!"

It's a word that has not been spoken, even by Savage, in tens of thousands of years. It is a word for the entities who came before magicians and scientists and priests parted ways. From before the gods themselves incarnated. It does mean something like goddess, but so much more.

A single howled word buys him free of ultimate retribution, but on its own, it's of little meaning, and like his balls, soon spent.

Patience and curiosity expended, Courtney snarls. "Enough! Can't even get me off and you're playing around like this?"

Immediately, his orgasm ends. Just ceases instantly, his shaft growing soft covered in its own ejaculate as sphincters close over jizz still unspent. He might have died from that snarl alone. Indeed, he wishes he does.

All she needs to do is tighten the fist holding Van by the hair-- and she does. "Remember, Van. You feed  _ me _ first!"

Contempt wars with disappointment on her still-young face, but she does not grant him the mercy of death. She doesn't even pump that arm while she relaxes the other's threat. Just a light tightening, only visible in her exquisite definition and audible in the crack of his skull beneath her knuckles.

His regeneration is his enemy now. The grind of her knuckles too slow to tear out his hair and drop him, especially at this angle; instead it keeps sending lightning blasts of pain as she cracks just the surface of his cranium, again and again as he tries to heal.

After several moments, she pulls back from the brink, tension threading and cording throughout her neck and the veins crisscrossing atop the awful muscles within. The mind-searing, skull-cracking torment of the miniscule pressure from her fingers ceases. Van hangs, but he is permitted to recover, whether he'd like to or not.

"Pa-the-tic," she enunciates slowly. The bubbliness is gone from her expression; even the smirk on her lips is only due to the fact that they both know he's gotten hard again.

"Forget juice, you limp little fuckboi. You'd better just have the stamina to be of  _ use _ when I give you to my pussy." Her face screws up for a moment. "Ugh-- you stink of your watery little cum."

Now, Courtney smiles happily again, sighing with anticipation.  _ That-- not a good sign. _ His fear shows on his face.

It's a mistake. "You taste so good," she moans, as Van's panic feeds her wild hunger for his pain.

The undulating muscles of her inner quads slick fresh as the pleasure runs through her. His nostrils flare and his eyes widen as the sensuous-sweet taste of her on the air becomes overwhelming.  _ Her  _ eyes widen, too, pupils dilating-- and not from how hard his cock throbs for her.

From something much worse

Van can't move. He can't even squirm, except how her movements bounce him. The only motion he has comes from sharp, ragged breaths that he knows are accelerating his panic attack. Millennia without fear, and less than a day with this mega-amazon has reduced him to the courage of a  _ rabbit _ , at most.

Her own plush heiny wriggling with anticipation, Courtney pats his ass gently, barely hard enough to sting. "It is  _ so  _ nice of you to volunteer," she purrs. "So, yeah-- forget you hurting me… for now."

Her chin lifts; her lips curl back in an arrogant, aroused smile. The smile stretches back and her toes scrape against the ground as she starts to flex the arm holding him instead. Her impossible bicep bulges up and up, denser and heavier than he by far, even with her arm at a mere thirty degrees.

"Yeah," she half-whimpers, half-groans. "Oh… oh  _ fuck  _ yeah!" Her blue eyes flare and her pupils auger into his. "When you're right, you're right, Van. Let's put some  _ real  _ fear in ya, instead."

She winks, and ice shoots through the sweat dripping off of him. "Plus some pain, too," she tells him with an air kiss in his direction. "For spice."

\-- and then, in a blur Van simply doesn't have the reflexes to follow, punches him lightly in the stomach. Honestly, it's not really even a punch, just another feather-light tap of her knuckles, but between the shock of his incompletely healed concussions and the brutal force of the heavily-restrained punch, he vomits in a spray off to the side.

"Lucky I'm fast, little perv," Courtney says with another lilting giggle. "I'd have made you clean that off me with your tongue. Still might make you lap it up anyway. Stinks almost as bad as you."

"Glrgh--"

She frowns at his incoherence, but her penetrating vision shows her the cranial source of his hinderance. "Oh, right, the skull thing and your jelly belly six-pack. Ga… Gaia-Geb, you're weak."

Irritated at his inability to suck up a little brain damage and abdominal trauma, not to mention an unfamiliar word forcing itself into her vocabulary she sniffs, but for her own entertainment finds some mercy. It can't be her own; she has none.

Perhaps she took whatever dregs of the virtue Vandar Adg might have possessed? She will take far more from him, his dignity already devoured.

Courtney relaxes the crushing pressure of her fist again. Still just slightly, and begins to play just her other pointer finger over his clenching belly. She wiggles its path around, going down further and further.

Soon, she's toying with stone-age built abs as though they were squishier than her tits. 

To be fair, they are; they just don't look it. She chuckles, adding sound effects as she goes. "Squoosh, squoosh, squoosh."

The sensual vibration in her voice now seems complementary to the amused giggle that it accompanies. His already-sore six-pack has about as much resistance to her as his once-more cum-filled nuts.

Courtney shakes her head, making her long golden locks sweep her shoulders. "You know, I almost thought you might be trouble. That's why I played sleepy-times."

Her breathing is growing heavier, her brows narrowing and while her pupils stay still, he has the oddest sensation she's looking all over him. "Fucking jerk. Studying an old book rather than looking at me? Rude. You invented rudeness, didn't you?  _ Didn't  _ you?!"

Each time irritation with him hits, her voice begins to swell like her bicep in a pump. No matter how calm the first words, by the end-- by the end, it's a snarl, and she doesn't control herself in the least.

Savage cries out-- probably an affirmative, at this point-- as she flicks that big finger into the renewed bulge of his pants. "Rude  _ here _ , too!" she grumps at him. It's nearly the same size, that pointer finger, as the bulge… including the thick layer of the pants and the thin of his boxers on top. The whip of her finger is still feather-light… to her.

To Van, it's like she took a steel pipe to his crotch. There's nothing left for him to vomit, so he simply dry heaves as she laughs and laughs. She's loosened her grip-- slightly-- so he's able to move again…

But only by squirming around midair, his hairs starting to strain the scalp beneath.

Tears form at his eyes, but they aren't the only thing dripping from him. Despite it all, he's still rock hard. Precum has already begun to join his earlier ejaculation, staining his boxers instead of the usual fear release.

Fear still rules him, like an able steward for Muscle Queen Courtney.

Just the sudden lick of her lips and abrupt flare of her nostrils terrifies him. Instinctively, before he realizes what's happened. He has no idea at all just how enhanced her abilities are. Even relative to the Hunters of old.

But he knows the things that inflame a predator. She wanted fear back in him, so fear he does. Especially, he fears the sudden wetness of her lips indicate she's received the Hunter's bloodhound scent-- magnified-- and is enjoying what she smells on him.

_ She can smell it-- the fear she's made in me. And she likes it! _

That would be bad enough, though the fact that she can track him now makes it worse. She can smell so much more, though. Even his tears seem to please her as she inhales their taste upon the air.

Every time his fear sparks, her tongue strokes over those honeyed lips once more.  _ If her strength is beyond that of the Last Son _ , he realizes, horrified,  _ her senses must be, too. _

_ No wonder she finds the orgasmic production disgusting and the fear delicious! _ Van shakes like a leaf, imagining her scenting and tasting all his desperate biochemical markers. Reading his mind as his body, all out of his control, shouts every thought to the winds.

Involuntarily, he experiments.

Somehow, finds the moisture for tears; the moment a drop even beads, her spectacular breasts heave as she moans at him.  _ The climax brings her so little; and it expends her prey. The fear… the fear feeds her, and her body responds. _

So yes, of course Courtney is disgusted; could any human hope to provide more for her as a sexual conquest than as a terrified snack?  _ Those witless fools! _ But he can't rail at the mystics for too long.

The muscular, more than half-maddened presence of this majestic woman commands all of his attention. Van's pleasure, in its building and its culmination, evokes a contempt response. His fear and pain, a combination of nourishment and sexual satisfaction.

Could he satisfy her with an orgasm? It's a cruel hope at best. No, it's far more a vicious torment, the idea that there might  _ be  _ a suitable man whose climactic surrender could bring a smile to those sweet lips.

For now, she is displeased by the inadequacies of the immortal "conqueror," and Van quavers, knowing that he's not likely to be fucked for her delights any time soon. He's ready for it-- her primordial beauty has forced him to part ways the concept of a refractory period. But the way her eyes keep tracking his flinches and tremors tell his future with Delphic precision.

Courtney Whitmore, in all her brawny glory, is far more interested in other forms of satisfaction at the moment. He can tell what the flare of her nostrils and brief sneer of distaste heralds. Much like his fear, like the thoughts he silently screams with every uncontrolled shudder…

His enormous owner tastes Savage's arousal-- she can taste how much he aches to be used again. She finds it almost as lacking as his semen.

In thousands of ways, she tastes  _ him _ in the air _. _ His cock shouts its readiness to be used-- and she can smell every last bit of the arousal that keeps it stiff. The humiliation born from the arousal. The shock, the loss-- the failure.

The thought tortures him almost as much as the brush of her hand.

He is still so terribly inadequate in his imagination. He can't speak at all now, but he can gibber, and does so, audibly and in his mind.  _ Depending on what that second blast did, she might be able to  _ see _ the hormones moving in me-- see the glands, maybe even the molecules forming! _

There's no time to panic over her exact methods. There's something much more immediate to panic over. She's calmed down from the rage, but this is worse. So much worse.

A horny, hungry ultra-predator that smells his fear-- and is amused by it all.

"So-o-o good, Van!" she groans. The first little sniff is followed straight away by a deeper, abs-expanding, breast-heaving inhalation. Part of him whines that the sudden growth is unfair-- that those rock-hard ridges seem bigger than his stomach. The whine is very deep within; far too much of him is following every sway and bounce as she moans, savoring his terrified  _ urge _ .

"Like I said-- you'd better have the juice." She shakes her head, irritated. "Got me repeating myself."

Still holding him by the hair, she reaches up to stroke his cheek, smiling just a little. "You gave me a couple of good little climaxes with that spell, but that just kinda took the edge off, you know?"

He is questioned by the muscle queen, and such interrogations must be answered. Dry and cracking, Savage finds his voice at last. "You were… whipped by the lashes of the Furies!"

_ I abruptly wish I remembered how to be humble. _

"The lashes of the Furies?" Courtney asks. "Really? The ones that haunted Dream?" Yes. He's going to relearn humility, it seems.

Sculpted shoulders roll in rugged flexion of their own, a craggy shrug. "Kinda wimpy for eternal scourges, but maybe that's just  _ you _ ." Her laughter is bad enough when it's deep enough to roll breasts that look bigger than church bells, calling him to worship.

But the amount of joy and perk in it, mixed into the hungry contempt makes it feel like her fingers are already raking his back. He's being torn in different directions by the sensual feeding, devouring sneer, and giggly ebullience. Drawn by her beauty, quartered by her force of personality.

Her other hand shifts, and pats Van on the bicep, as though to reassure. "Maybe you just can't lift the whip handles?" she asks, almost sweetly as she pokes lightly at the best muscles fifty thousand years of profoundly personal physical combat could give him.

_ Squoosh, squoosh, squoosh. _

Courtney shrugs, and stage-whispers, "Kinda flabby, sweetie. Maybe I should give you some  _ very _ personal training at the gym?" She licks her lips from one corner to the next, pupils tracking over his cock and fingers stroking over his ass.

The thought amuses, bright in her blue eyes, though her thoughts are as opaque to him as his clear to her. "Anyway." She chuckles a bit, even the light echoes of that motion enough to crack his skull on her immovable knuckles yet again, right through his healing.

It might just be his head trauma, but Van feels like she's  _ making _ him understand her interests.

The beaten ancient is just swung along for the ride, helpless against her power and hapless to resist in any meaningful way.

Then she considers him again. No-- her nipples. Compelling, pink-- and somehow stiffer than moments prior. The tang of her scent tells him that the horniness is rising.

_ It's that Pulse, _ he realizes, far too late.  _ And its second. Everything the Hunters used me to recharge upon-- it's magnified in her as much as her strength over theirs! _

And unfortunately... the three Drives seem tied together. Tightly. Desire swells; unfulfilled, it is suffering. The suffering needs to be shared.

In short, when Courtney gets horny, she gets  _ angry _ . "You got the edge off, Van, baby, but I'm so fucking  _ horny! _ "

The last word is roared, shaking the room and showering him in dust again. "You'd better come up with what I need. A lot more than juice." The pain of the flick and the pain of her hold on his scalp are nothing compared to what she does next.

Casually, she opens her left hand-- but he doesn't have far to drop. There's a blur of banded muscles, her right arm moving so fast the wind blows rubble over the alien landscape for hundreds of meters. She grabs him before he can fall.

Grabs Van, and holds him up by his abused cock from below. The stickness of his cum does not endear. It's not particularly comfortable for him, either.

Two fingers whip up further, pinching just behind the tip. How he isn't torn apart by the torque alone would baffle-- but he has nothing spare to contemplate save pain and shame. The pressure is enormous, and the weight of his body falling back feels like it must tear him away from the root.

Courtney is tired of dealing with his weakness, it seems. He can see the logic-- the slim part of him not in agony.

If Kal-El can pick a car up by the bumper, she can hold a wimp up by the dick, right?

But she is also tired of doing all the work. "Stand up straight, you little shit!" Barking orders suits her just like obedience now rules him.

Apparently, one can, indeed, hold themselves up on nothing but sheer cockiness, hold the arrogance. Van learns that quickly-- the hard way. The very hard way.

His body stiffens immediately at her command. Muscles that wouldn't be able to haul either finger even a millimeter apart strain and bulge in endless agony to hold himself vertical at the root of his dick, while gravity and torque shear at his core. "Please!"

She does smile, just a bit, running her lower lip between her teeth as she does, her toes scraping the floor as they curl. Perhaps...

Perhaps it's that his biggest bulges of strength are but feeble imitation of her smoothest resting definition. She's still finding the humor in it all, at least?  _ I think… _

"That's good," she tells him, planting her left hand on her hip as she considers his stiffness. "Maybe you're a man who can be trained-- gotta be good for something after fifty thousand years."

"Sta-star-stargi-"

"It's  _ Courtney  _ to you, you little pussy. And calling you that is kinda an insult to my pretty beaver, so you'd better take it like a compliment." Courtney's hips roll from side to side, lush padding bouncing on over the tightly grooved muscles beneath. The swish seems to have a life of its own.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the next, following the wriggle of it independently. Like her ass is just doing its own thing, pumping first the left cheek and the quads below, then the right, then back.

He's far enough back to see that, at least-- though he really has no choice in what he sees.

Van can't help it. Despite the incredible pain and effort to hold himself erect while she holds him by his erection, he feels his balls tighten further. Which in turn gets her squirming her thighs together.

Courtney smiles, tilting her head to the side and purring with recollection.

"Fucking little pussy. Feels so good to call you that," she chuckles, and sets him down almost gently. "You know that second blast made everything about me stronger?"

Wriggling her eyebrows and licking her lips, Courtney gives another pump of her left arm, making an extravagant wave of her right hand towards the colossal bicep in motion. Her fist tilts out at first, then back towards her shoulder, pointer finger indicating the mountain of strength.

Van is hypnotized, especially when she gives it a loving kiss. He suspects he knows where she's going, too, but even if he was stupid enough to interrupt-- he can't.

Not when he can stare at her arm and drool again.

She turns back to him, flaring her nostrils in distaste as she examines him. "I'd thank you for it-- but you also made these new Drives, these new Hungers and thirsts,  _ so _ much worse. So you're going to suffer for it."

He moans, hands moving towards his crotch, but it's sore to the slightest touch. Whatever he'd intended, to protect himself or masturbate before this violent new goddess of sex and strength, she disapproves. Strongly, as every aspect of her is.

So Courtney slaps him again, this time breaking the other side of his jaw. It almost breaks his neck. He stumbles about midair, of course, both legs inadequate to the task of withstanding the brush of her palm.

"Did you forget I know you can regenerate, you tiny-dicked little jackass?" She chuckles, the echoes of it wobbling their way over muscle and plush alike. She nods at his groin again with an amused smile. "Very little, I'm afraid."

The littleness of his member and his person may offend her, but the smallness of him taken as a whole inflames her. She hungers for sex and pain. Van's world is full of both, at her hands.

As he heals, Courtney's eyes grow ablaze with desire. She steps into his personal space, taking that from him too. Just to force the intensely humiliating mass of her bicep right into his face. 

It adorns an upper arm bigger than either of his thighs, quaking and shivering to either side of his cock. Her grip doesn't have to tighten; the dark-tan length of his shaft throbs thicker by the moment between her fingers. His lips tremble, and he's filled with a flame his own.

Or rather-- a flame  _ Courtney _ puts into him.

Van tries to resist. Her skin is so pale and taut that he imagines he can see himself reflected in her sweat. Always overshadowed by every disc and groove, every shapely bulge and craggy, fibrous knot.

Each one forces the truth in on him. Every bit of Courtney so much stronger than his back, trembling with the effort the First Murderer requires to keep himself away.

_ She'll kill me! If I touch her, she'll kill me slowly, painfully, and then let me regenerate and do it again! _ She's so close, and his lips rebel against his prudence-- they can't seem to stop pressing together. Moistening the closer her skin comes to him. "Go ahead, Van," she coos. "Worship me. It's what you're good for!"

"Just remember," Courtney warns as his lips begin to close on the heat and strength of her bicep. Which is  _ still _ bigger around than his leg; even unflex.

The edges of her smile curl back and the inside of her eyebrows raise. "Just remember, if you lose your hardness again? I'm taking the whole thing right off."

Delirious from pain, he whimpers, "Thank you, Courtney." The little mewls continue as Van helplessly kisses her huge arm in even more helpless adoration.

His lips press and his tongue strokes as her arm grinds over his face. Below, her middle finger tear into his pants from the bottom of his asscrack, back along his taint. It's just the pressure of her finger, not its direct violence, or she'd cut him in half, but it's so precise it slices through slacks and boxers alike.

The war was lost when she snagged him, crushing his superior attitude while crushing his escape. Now the rapine begins. His sense of identity is no more secure than his pants. In a moment, she rips them clean off, leaving him bare below the waist to his boots.

Those last even less time. He doesn't notice. Vandal Savage, after all, is gone, for now.

Vandal Savage is lost in Van, slave of Courtney Whitmore. He will return to something of himself-- eternally returning to bondage-- but for now he is completely lost, squashed into the mold she desires. His machinations, once endless, are almost gone, beaten out of him in moments-- he can't even truly comprehend her threat.

She mistakes adoration of her arm for understanding and continues. "Worse, if you cum again before I'm darn well ready for it? Before I  _ demand  _ it?"

Van's lips freeze in the act of kissing-- in the act of worship, something that he'd sworn to leave behind far before even the Middle Ages.

"When I rip this off, I'll fuck you with it." Clipped, fierce, and nearly spat, the jerk of her head makes her wavy blonde mane of hair dance about. It is perhaps a final lash over his self-control.

Only the precise way Courtney's fingers pinch his balls stops him from orgasming anyway. Caught, he screams praises of her name and strength. Her fingers are spread around the root of his shaft and where his nuts fill to overcapacity, and she pinches off the nerves and flow of fluids alike with impossible instant anatomical expertise.

A mercy, of sorts.

Laughing, she tells him, "Good boy. No cum… but you can feel the rest of it, can't you?"

Her Hunger does not end, cannot end. The beautiful blonde behemoth devours his screams, kissing him again. "Your mind-- that, you can let go."

Blinking, Van tries to speak, but she kisses that away again. "Feed me, Van. Give me  _ you. _ "

Her words are as soft as her mercy is harsh. Soft as a tongue curling around him and dragging him in. She doesn't have to command; he's already between her jaws.

It is indeed an insanely painful mercy-- not the first his owner has given him, new to her service. Nor will it be the last.

Van climaxes in his mind, stumbling and thrashing against her as she smirks, holding him tight. "There we go, honey," she coos again.

"Just like that," her breathy voice continues, wrapping around him and squeezing into his very skin. "Let all that nasty ego out. Even the superego can go, little guy…"

She grins, as she watches his eyes glaze. Her groan is more than halfway to orgasm, her titanic shoulders and obscenely curved hips shimmying with pleasure. "But your  _ id _ , Van-- that belongs to me. It stays."

So it does; his id, it seems, is a weasel, and a tired one at that. Van's resistance drains like his nuts can't; his aeons-old drive to dominate spends itself in submission.

Submission, and shudders, empty of culmination as they are of strength. Sore shaft owned and mind in orgasmic throes nonetheless, he lavishes worshipful kisses and adoring lips over Courtney's bicep.

Fifty thousand years of villainy, and one musclebound giantess' upper arm is bigger than his entire world.

There's some balance to it. After all, he's barely a part of her world at all. All of this pageantry, every last moment of torment serves a single purpose.

Not to break Vandal Savage-- that happened in moments. Not to gain satisfaction in sex and power; she hasn't bothered to fuck him yet and won't for some time. The sexuality of it all feeds her, almost as much as the pain, but it's merely appetizers, compared to the feast she needs.

As for power, there's simply no comparison and no need to use rape to demonstrate that.

Savage serves her in one way, and one way only. Ironically, in a heroic manner. At long last, the man who might be the biblical Cain has found a sacrifice worthy to maintain the affections of a deity.

By surviving her wrath and lust, he gives her the strength to save herself.

To save her soul.

And by extension, he saves all of the millions of people for whom she will serve as godqueen, salvaged from the attention of worse Hunters.

Because the chuckles, the athletic amusement, and stubbornness he mistook for perkiness aren't just a further tool to whip him with. Not just more cognitive dissonance. They represent the woman underneath the drives of a Hunter.

The hero beneath the horror.

The college student named Courtney Whitmore still lives. The determined young woman who sacrificed her time, her health, her love, and her safety again and again to save anything from a treed cat, to the world itself still lives. Still hopes to make the world better-- relative to the baseline of the Pulsed world.

But she must pay the cost to do so, and therefore, so must Vandal Savage.

Spent, he collapses. Still hard, of course, his vision fades to black, and he crumples.

It's only after she has him safely to the floor that her sobbing starts.


	9. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mind of a Hunter is a multi-varied, multi-hued thing. Expansive, but not just in capacity. Perceptive, but not just in raw input of data.
> 
> Vast numbers of identical mental compartments-- iterations of Courtney, in this case-- experiencing the same data at once but with different foci, different processes, and different purposes.
> 
> Those purposes intertwine and become connected. Each one a thread her consciousness, each thread woven from smaller strands. So much data, so many conclusions, so much understood, so swiftly.
> 
> A multitasking, multithreaded consciousness. Not just thinking of two things at once, or ten. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe more.
> 
> At speeds that would and do dwarf the entire Flash Family together.
> 
> Textbooks-- courses-- entire lives, lived within milliseconds. Nanoseconds. Picoseconds? How could a human tell?
> 
> There is no way it can be adequately explained to a human mind. But there can be metaphor.
> 
> Waking up for the first time like that was quite a kick for Courtney Whitmore... Especially waking up like that HUNGRY.

Waking up was very different for Courtney Whitmore. Among other things, she actually woke up faster than Vandal Savage. En route.

The world rushed around her, glittering lines flickering in colors far more myriad than those she'd ever seen, even while dorking around with Paintshop's color wheel. Colors she had no prior names for-- no prior _experiences_ for-- flashed in and out of her perception so fast that she was angered all the more for their speed than for the indignity of her own situation.

Her brain fragmented-- or so it felt. It had been doing so for quite some time, to tell the truth, since her time on the surface. How could she possibly experience and understand so much coming in all at once? How could she be thinking about so many different instances of the same concept, from different directions?

 _How can I_ be _such a multiplicity, unless my mind is falling apart? Why am I using words like multiplicity outside a classroom?_

The curious circumstances of Courtney's double-Pulsing, mixed with the sudden use of multiple spells powerful enough to have minor, startling effects on her neurology, created an incredible, phantasmagoric explosion of sensations that she was lost within them for some time on the way down.

Her remarkable body, divinely brawny and terrifying in its capacities, went nearly completely unused. Merest survival instincts flooded through unused cognitive capacity, even as she explored entire universes… Very close to home indeed.

But that was still sleeping… more or less. The multiplicity's periphery slides along, and little tangles of Courtney contemplate herself and her body. _Damn, I'm hot,_ is heard within her mind more than a little bit.

Now… she wakes.

First and foremost is a yawning emptiness so great it devours the body from inside a cocoon of thoughts, thoughts themselves slowly being digested into the maw of **NEED**.

Not just the thoughts.

The Courtney. All that is Courtney Whitmore, all three meters of mega-amazonian might and mega-curved beauty, her soul, her mind, her power, her senses… All of it is in debt to a diabolical **NEED** that is feasting even as she is reborn.

_negative three million two hundred and eighty-six thousand nine hundred and eighty-four of forty_

_Gained three million, two hundred and eighty-six thousand, eight hundred and eighty-seven_

**_NEED_ ** _one hundred and thirty-seven_

But that is only a third of the **NEED**.

The rest of the **NEED** is a jagged little mirror, running straight and sliced across her consciousness. On this side, her fist; on that, her bruise. On this side, the ring of her taunting laughter; on that, the cringe and the wince.

On this side, a crown…

On that side, a collar.

All buried deep. All rising.

 _Where-- what… why… I… GIVE ME!_ Courtney _wants_ so badly and _needs_ so much that just existing, just the fragments of breaths feel like impossible torment.

But why? Her mind flexes, rippling with power, just like her body. It expands, reaching. 

The mind of a Hunter is not like the mind of a human; not even a metahuman or metagenius. Imagine the Flash, inundated with the Sage Force as _well_ as the Speed. Give him Kryptonian-level senses.

Then clone him, again and again and again until there's an army-- but an army all wired together through the Sage Force, all _thinking_ at Speed Force velocities. To Courtney, every moment is simultaneously experienced by a myriad of perspectives, tasks, and purposes, which feed into each other and are comprehended at once.

Like a computer that really can read all those browser tabs and play all those games, all at once. So many of them god games or tricked-out modded first person RPGs.

Give each of them the porniest of porned-up mods.

From the moment she wakes, she experiences all of them. A single mote of dust is a crystalline universe. A molecule of scent tells her the stories of lifetimes passing through a single point in space. 

And she wants to own them all. Even mostly asleep, part of her is aware enough to want to take, to control… To use.

_Even though all of it is so boring compared to how weak Vandal Savage is._

_Pretty little thing. Not even six feet tall. Heh… heh… Mm, I bet those arms aren't even twenty-two inches at the_ biceps _… flexed! Pathetic. Almost pathetic as what he calls a six-pack too._

 _So… easy… to…_ rape _. Wait-- to rape?_

The brief flare of Courtney Whitmore's morality struggles against a rushing tide of **NEED** so ferocious it would swamp Aquaman's legions and extinguish the Firestorm Matrix's ability to transmute.

The only thing that remains with any kind of heat is the desire to be fulfilled. To satiate.

To _take._ And that's how she rises out of semi-slumber. With just a little bit of drool running down her chin at the idea of her pussy crammed over Vandal Savage's face.

His pathetic little limbs flailing. Such a pleasant little daydream. It haunts all of the multitude she now contains.

Waking up is not an easy thing to do. Fortunately, she has millennia before even a millisecond passes by. That post-Flash speed, turned inwards, counting and recounting and forming an entire universe.

The first few thousand years are almost all joy. There's so much to learn, so much to experience. Guilt at having slept through half her physics and chemistry classes and whispered through half of the remainder is expunged-- as Courtney develops her own models through observation, speculation, and mental simulation.

It is exhilarating. It is not enough. **_NEED_ ** _one-hundred and three._

 **NEED** drives her hand to clench into a fist; **NEED** drives her to dig her nails into her own palm.

It's so little that the act itself barely decreases the impetus more than the time to complete it.

The **NEED** 's jaws are locked around her. Not a single cell of her biology, not her core body, not her fluids, not her symbiotic microfauna-- nothing in Courtney is immune to those fangs.

 _It hurts. HURTS_. She knows intimately that her body is not only intact, but nearly invulnerable.

And yet the unmet **NEED** is sending her sobbing and screaming to herself. _It's tearing me apart! Cell by cell, microsecond by microsecond!_

But some parts have more to pad against the raking edges. And not just the deep, hyper-dense muscle and dense, squishy-jiggly roundness, either. The very act of fulfilling the **NEED** seems to push the jaws further apart…

So very, very little. _Better,_ Courtney promises herself. _And we can make it better still._

It's nice having some serious hardware up top though. Even if part of it is counting down to hell. Hell and breakfast.

Because the world, even so limited a world as she's exposed to right now, is wondrous. Along the entire way down, she sees, touches, smells, tastes, and hears the cavern entire, every geometric point that makes it up examined in detail. Even the world beyond as it was is explored, her perfect eidetic memory projecting the world as it was in every respect as she could perceive it.

Even slamming into the ground countless subjective years later-- or rather, having the concrete upon which she lies interpose itself with the unyielding stone of the distant floor-- is an orgasmic experience.

Literally. **_NEED_ ** _ninety-five._ Rage surrounds her. Rage fills her.

 _Him! He put me here! He keeps me here! He refuses me my_ **_NEED!_ **

A small figure stirs. Memory makes it out as bigger than she used to be. Contempt spits on used to be.

 _Closeness_ drives at her. Towards the dark-skinned, dark-bearded figure she despises for his slowness and his weakness even more than for his past trespass. He is shapely, but not shapely enough; sturdy, but only in how she sees his cells repair themselves from even the slightest bit of damage.

He could be used to fulfill the heart of the **NEED** and the near side of the mirror.

Except…

Except that he fed the far side of the mirror. After all, after her first Pulsing ended and her mind focused, she had the entire surface world stuffed into her head all at once, and then was shot. 

_I'm not going to be weak before him or anyone else ever-a-fucking-gain. If there is the appearance of vulnerability, it will be because_ I _choose it._ So caution threads through the self-cannibalizing devastation.

Now that she wakes again, she's stuck inside a magical circle of the kind designed to hold Outer Gods. How does she know? Twice-over and two-million-fold.

Most easily comprehensible, Courtney knows because she can see the curvature of spacetime and compute its stability… and because even while her mind is tearing itself apart, she can read the books in the bag beside the nutritiously annoying _snack_ named Vandal Savage.

 _Those books… this is that stuff Raven and Doctor Fate were always on about. It's so clear, though. The route taken to achieve symbolic harmony_ must _meet both the absolute terms of the species and the absolute terms of the supernal-- but it also must vary as to the culture and idiosyncratic elements of the caster._

 _Why didn't I understand that before?_ The rest of the book is just as easy-- and it has a warning. The amount of life force-- of years sacrificed-- to harm _her_ would be counted in multiple lifetimes. _Unfortunately, Vandal Savage_ has _multiple lifetimes to spend…_

Even if what she reads isn't reason enough to move cautiously, and not just cannonball at him, screaming, what happened _after_ the circle formed gives her reason to pause and feign unconsciousness before he literally even can blink. The circle itself and the ruins of the off-plans sewer chamber, were plunged deep into the earth, sealing them in a giant cavern-- natural, unworked stone, blocking off the global power of her interlinked senses.

So the world is now limited to Courtney, Vandal Savage, and a couple of gigantic, city-devouring monsters around the periphery of the cavern. _Those_ great beasts, bright in the shadows to her eyes, know _far_ too well not to disturb a Hunter.

A pretty enough thought for itself, making her cheeks flush and her eyes tighten close. A massive half-crab, half-tyrannosaur scaled to a city walks entirely in a different direction, just because she is here, and it makes her mega-amazonian body _flex_ with pride-- and pleasure-- and satisfied **NEED**.

_Ninety-four; the fist closes._

A soft, _"Ahhh!_ " is whispered faster than the time it takes a human mind to hear anything; her clit throbbing. _So good so good so GOOD!_

Her cells don't exactly _stop_ feeling like they're being pulled in different directions to the point of tearing… but it's less. At least it's less.

She's waking into a far less chaotic world of the senses. And yet, she can sense the true world and its entirety anyway, stuffed together into the material and scent and vibrations all around her. Everything is there before her eyes.

Sensory integration, parts of her decide to call it. Sound is vibration; vibration detected broadly enough and with enough detail, is sight. Give it enough of a sensitive receptor, and you can feel it.

Given sensitive enough and vast enough points of input, and you can tell the shape-- even down to the molecular level. The molecules, counted and understood, imply scent, imply taste, imply characteristics. And then there's context.

_It all runs together. If I have to break the spacetime walls… That's the right angle. Doing it that way will also make the reverberations hurt me more, of course._

_Goodgoodgoodgoodyesplease_ **_NEED!_ **

The reason Hunters will become legendary fighters, even among other omega-tier threats is not merely their gorgeous muscularity, either in beauty or in size. It's because to them, lights and shadow and the sound of a heartbeat give sufficient data on how to aim a punch such that their opponent _cannot_ block it. Or that an opponent's strike will come, and blocking _thus_ or dodging _that_ will leave them completely unable to follow-up.

Sensory integration; all sensory data implies all other sensory data implies abstract information.

 _Power_ \-- out of knowledge.

But Courtney is not merely an expanded mind with divine sensory powers.

She is now an entity capable of acting on that knowledge on levels too small for any non-Hunter to see, and too large for anyone not the equivalent to comprehend. A goddess in muscle, an amazon bedecked in voluptuousness-- and nothing else-- her beauty is every bit as much a weapon as her thewy frame.

And it's enjoying itself-- enjoying both her power… and the **NEED** that devours, all together.

 _The more I fix… the better it feels the more it comes together…_ The tearing at her fabric of being, the ravelling of Courtney the Hunter… slows.

But not by much.

There is a target for that **NEED** too, after all. All she has to do is figure out how to get to him. He is her sole and single source of sustenance: a man of meaningless capability except to be consumed for her desires.

So she resolves to conceal her true nature from her food. After all, the spindly little Cro-Magnon now has _her_ locked in a box, magically speaking. She can't let that continue.

But right now, pain flashes through her breasts, a sore flare matching the electrical pulses still lingering in her legs. The impact, thousands of subjective years and less than a centisecond actual, reverberates, outlines her curvaceously muscular body in heat.

Right now, the hiss of bruises and the jangle of bones sends messages along Courtney's spine. Makes already harsh muscles pulse harder. Her tits sink just a bit deeper, the lush padding taking on an exaggerated appearance of expansion.

Right now, she has to cum.

Right now it hurts _so_ good. The pain licks her clit, sucks on it like Vandal Savage ought. The bruises, worshipful kisses. The stretched tendons and misaligned joints, like she suddenly imagines Kara's tongue up her ass would…

 _Yes… yes… yes! Fuck, forget good cop and bad cop._ Crazed mental images form, making Courtney's sex slick nearly as much as the sweat running over her bulging muscles. Of a tall Kryptonian, naked, muscular for her species and thus not so endlessly delicate as Vandal Savage, being Courtney's seat cushion…

Her throne. _Kara's got nice lips, bet my ass could tame that tongue hah my muscles are hers my tits are bigger than hers I'm BETTER SHE BELONGS TO ME no no no…_

 _Yes!_ The war between Courtney's pain and Courtney's identity is lost to the pain, and the image of having Power Girl's pretty face trapped beneath Courtney's lush, lovely cheeks, tongue worshiping her tight asshole becomes almost holy to the titanic young Hunter. It plays on into the echoing centuries of subjective time.

Accompanied by thoughts of Vandal Savage too. Reveling in the idea of the spindly little supervillain eating her out as Kara licked her ass. Forever. The future, defined.

The superhero at the core of Coutney is revolted. But it's buried deep. So much more of her is cumming at hyper-speeds. So much more of her is completely blissed.

So much more of her is willing to do terrible things to achieve that future. The **NEED** is too strong right now.

It's a good thing that Vandal Savage takes rather a good deal of time to come out of the spell's trance. Courtney's musclebound body spasms, again and again. Hard and soft together thrash for what seems like an eternity.

Five whole milliseconds; an eternal embarrassment. She sees herself, first, from the inside out, the outside in, and all points between. There is no darkness behind her eyes; from every cell and every organ and everything between she sees-hears-feels, through, and to, and of.

 _Ah… mmm… Ahhh!_ Courtney's mind is caught by the pleasure in that eternity of split seconds, and her shame becomes orgasmic, too.

Plush hips and plusher ass grind and writhe in the air so fast that it superheats, glimmering over sweat-drenched skin. Huge breasts, plump and round, are squooshed densely over the ground, deep pink nipples plowing fist-sized furrows through the concrete, but pinching themselves against the unyielding stone beneath.

She climaxes again--and again-- but she's already moving so much in those unending milliseconds it hardly makes a difference to anything. But it makes all the difference to the screaming **_NEED_ ** within, and that will be enough.

Her pussy-- perfect, pink, and plumped further still with arousal engorgement-- is soaked, and not just the glistening sweat running beneath her wild blonde bush.

Her musk-- delicious, sweet, tangy, heady with pheromones covering everything from cries for sex to roars of dominance to screaming need _for_ dominance-- is carried to her nose, to her lips. The taste it makes as it interacts with the superheated air and the magical crackle, the taste it _could_ make with the scents of the cavern-- they all come together.

Her core clenches, and she sees every shapely petal squeeze. _I need this, I need this… I_ **_NEED_ ** _this!_ Her ass shakes, and she hears her perfect bubble globes quiver. Her shoulders and hips squirm, and she sees perfection written with strength in action.

An arm stretches out. A thick deltoid clenches and pulls back; not so much boulder-like as built to scare the god of boulders into giving the profession up as superfluous. Her right latissimus flares, arcing out like the moon, the deep grooves of her definition like aesthetically-hurled impact craters. The bicep bulges, the tricep extending slightly.

Neither much pressure-- and yet… And yet the thickness of the monstrous muscle that awakens from just that simple movement would put office chair breadth to shame. Make bears and ogres alike look at their thighs and wonder just how many leg days they shouldn't have skipped.

 **_NEED_ ** _nine-three…_ The **NEED** is resolving. Focusing. It drains at her sinew, leeches from her bones, peels at her nerves-- eats at her very skin. The **NEED** is constant, even when it is being fed. Yawning open, tearing at the core of her the worst, the worst, the worst of all..

Her fingers move wide, and the spirals of cabled muscles along her forearm pushes outwards, running and extending to the huge bulge just below the elbow. Then the whole limb whips back and out, flailing in another direction, reaching out to try to take hold of spacetime and missing it narrowly.

All three of her other limbs smash and hammer around her; her pelvis and abdomen curl in while her gargantuan chest curls out. Not to mention vice-versa, abs rolling like stony seas and table-sized pectoral muscles pumping back and forth hard behind her soft breasts. Individual muscle heads flex and extend; 

All of it recorded-- analyzed-- understood. Biology, chemistry, physics, math-- that which she's forgotten, she remembers; that which she never understood, she intuits; that which she never had the chance to know-- she invents.

While cumming her brains out.

Speaking of her thoughts...

_How dare he/I can still save the day/I'll murder him!/This must be explored/thatsawrong/Can I save myself?/I'll enslave him!/No, save him too!/Everything he is will be mine to comprehend, mine to dominate/butifIgothatway/I'll rape him/I need to rape him/I NEED!_

The supernal fabric of her being flexes and stretches out in ways that agonzie but do not feed. _I need ninety-one more, or… Or…_

_Or !!!_

The vision is revolting. A kindly red-haired man that the increasingly quiet parts of her respects deeply-- if Or comes to pass, his face would replace Vandal Savage's-- and Kara's-- with no thoughts of their relationship, let alone his survival.

 _Not blood doesn't count not blood doesn't count doesn't count when the_ **_NEED_ ** _rules…_

His is the first, but it's not the last. His son. Friends from school. The Justice Society.

Anyone not a very kindly specific older blonde woman she still vaguely recognizes as her mother, or an annoyingly cute little toddler she can somehow remember is her sister, despite the stretching, tearing, _burning_ feeling of the **NEED** 's jaws ravenning at her brain.

At her soul.

Her thoughts crash on together, a hive of savage, burning desires, offended, nearly insane pride, and desperate attempts to remain herself.

To remain heroic, even though she is now so far beyond the heroes of her childhood as a headquarters full of clones of the House of El.

All of it is tainted by the knowledge that she is starving-- and that Vandal Savage is in arm's reach yet a universe out of her grasp. Vandal Savage, the First Murderer…

 _No. Vandal Savage, my rightful_ meat _. Food. Forever!_

_Or at least until he breaks._

If the starvation wins.

Those thoughts, personality measures, ethos, context, and more, all layered on top of exploration, induction, deduction, fantasy… The person, the woman named Courtney Withmore is emerging not _from_ a cocoon of thoughts, but with those layers of cognition driven through her soul constantly, like deep-sunk wells across layer after layer of related, but separate geological formations. Carrying each strata together, yet separate.

And the first thing that she wakes up knowing is the **NEED**.

Three needs-- three Drives… three Hungers. With more than two days' deficit left due to her unusual Pulsing-- the double dose of Feeding overlapped, rather than added-- they tear at her.

For a moment, her control lapses.

Her right index finger twitches. Insanely powerful muscles, layered upon themselves and sculpted into extraordinary exemplars of form and function, respond-- respond with the full and untrammeled force to which she is heir. Just a fingertip touches the cracked and scattered concrete.

Control is gone from her grasp, but not comprehension. Speed, force, temperature, sensation-- the multitude that is Courtney Whitmore's thought registers every specific of the event. On a cold level, it's a beautiful thing-- self-knowledge.

From just that fingertip blooms all the data she needs to understand her strength. Her speed-- well, that's implicit in the ticking down of her **NEED** and the world around her. The perceptions and the mind tell their own story.

The first thing that registers is the impact of more than three times ten to the twenty-second power dinosaur-killer astero-- _No,_ Courtney reminds herself. _A human-sized breath; a liter of air. That's just molecules of air-- of course, if the information I'm getting is correct…_

Those countless air molecules have no less effect on her than a like number of dinosaur-killers impacting on her skin.

Or _stars_. Courtney Whitmore will be called one of the Hundred, in time. She will rise among them, but even from the beginning, she will be counted amongst the hundred most powerful Hunters not of the Outliers. Should the very myriad stars in the sky fall upon her, they too would have no less or no more effect on her than a single breath from Vandal Savage…

Several meters away.

Her finger twitches into it, and every last atom of every last molecule-- oxygen, nitrogen, even microscopic forms of life are suddenly hammered so hard into each other, so swiftly, that impossible nuclear fusion becomes not so much possible as _inevitable_.

In less time that it takes Vandal Savage's nerves to register the data-- and so he never knows-- a burning glow of unleashed atomic energies flares 'round Courtney's finger… and is snuffed out by the same flick.

Only to reignite in the concrete when struck by the transferred kinetic energy-- let alone the actual impact-- of that finger. Colossal devastation pulses through the concrete like the Pulsed through human society in the world above… and is stopped, completely, when it touches stone.

 _… Say what now?_ But it's true; Courtney can see quite plainly that the stone below the displaced piece of human architecture doesn't just block her senses-- it blocks her power completely. A true threat, where even the kilometer-sized monsters further away in the cavern are firmly _not_.

The thought frustrates. Limitation. Some power in the Earth-- in every aspect of the changed Earth, including the _air_ , for that, too, absorbs the nuclear reaction far faster than it should-- dominates Courtney, and that is unacceptable.

Unacceptable-- and pleasurable. _Oooh, I… Mmm. Feels good?_ It's confusing. But...

Filling, even.

The **NEED** 's less quantifiable aspects ebb, and one third of them are named. To suffer; to be dominated; to be _hurt_ in some way. Masochism isn't the best name for it, since pain is not the only component that will Feed, but it will do.

A Masochism Drive; the M-Drive. And it suggests its mirror is the reason why Vandal Savage is looking both unaccountably sexy… and a lot like Courtney's favorite sea-salt dark chocolate. The imported stuff.

_Little bitch. Rude little bitch! How dare he? He can't even bench press a ton. Not even one! The magic he wields-- the only thing that's been able to feed me…_

Courtney's huge traps convulse and her delts pump forward, their boulder-like bulges swelling and trembling even harder. _All of that is just rote learning, accidental knowledge and luck. And, sure._

 _He'd be one of the most experienced hand to hand combatants not named Wu-San or Cain in the entire world-- or galaxy, for that matter…_ Disdain fills her. Because her memories of him are full of so many flaws that her expanded mind mocks that he might as well be Daffy Duck with a quarterstaff.

Parry. Spin. Thru-CLANG.

 _In short… Mister First Murderer, he's weak._ The part of her that would be horrified to call rape a just punishment for _anything_ is drowned out by the part of her that doesn't want to go crazy and hurt people she cares about. That doesn't want to die, being slowly used as fuel for her own internal inferno.

So those parts of her have a singular conclusion about why his weakness is so tasty. _And he even brags about how much he deserves to suffer for my pussy._

And that makes Courtney's **NEED** snarl and snap, an almost maddening lack pushing at her colossally burly body. Arms thicker than bears' waists bulge with sudden flexion; her fingers stretch out in that burst of a moment, still so fast his mind and senses can't even tell she's moved from an erotically arranged heap of sculpted limbs and squishy-firm curves on the floor.


	10. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney Whitmore is awake, and her world will never be the same again. Gone is the woman who might have lead the JLA, or the JSA, depending on the timeline. Or-- not gone, but subsumed within the Hunter she became the template for.
> 
> She is awake, but she is contained. Of the close to one hundred and twenty thousand Hunters, Courtney is one of the most powerful of those who will not be named Outlier. She will be called Queen of the Star Enclaves for a very good reason. But she is also one of the very few contained...
> 
> And of the even fewer still contained by one of the feeble, scurrying ants called humanity.
> 
> Well, in the case of Vandal Savage, technically, Cro-Magnon. A literal common ancestor to most of humanity, he is in many ways not only responsible for Courtney's double-Pulsing, but for the crisis that lead to the Titan Rite itself. He should have run.
> 
> Instead, he bound her in a circle that would have held Azathoth or Nylarathotep, at least for a little while.
> 
> It was a poor choice; we all know how that ended up, don't we? Here's her point of view...

Courtney Whitmore has become one of what will be called the Hundred-- the hundred most powerful Hunters in existence save the Outliers. Her strength can only be measured by other Hunters and the mightiest of Stealers and their ilk. Even cosmic  _ gods _ , beings whose clashes would set the very fabric of reality, should tremble before her.

But right now, she's starving, empty, terrified of what she's become, desperately horny… and her only prey hasn't noticed she's even been spasming and thrashing wildly. He thinks so little of her, does Vandal Savage.

Courtney intends to keep it that way.

She hauls herself back into a pile of deliberately enticing disorder. Forces her vastly muscular arms to loll this way and that…

Moves her long, obscenely destructive legs around and overlapping each other, knees dug in so that even from this angle, her perky-plump bubble butt is plainly visible…

Grinds her broad shoulders back so the lush  _ fat _ of her shapely breasts and stiff nipples peaks up slightly towards him…

Forces herself to breathe in the soft shallowness of apparent unconsciousness… and arranges her body to be not merely  _ enticing _ , but demanding.

Commanding, even, somehow in unconsciousness. All in a matter of milliseconds...

_ Come to me, Vandal Savage. Slutty little Van. Come to me, and feed me, and I'll be gentler with you than you deserve. Do not, and I promise you… you will regret not feeding me. _

The thought is inhuman… but the calculations, perfect, and disturbing. And they all extrapolate from the mirror of the m-Drive.

Or rather-- the far, far nastier and far, far larger light that casts the shadow called m-Drive.

Far more compelling,  _ far _ more ravenous, is an urge that pushes her to find any way possible to batter through the circle's pinched-off spacetime, no matter what the potential consequences, pick that wretched little  _ man _ up by the scruff of his neck, and introduce every last single neuron he possesses to the most intimate concepts of pain.

Until he not only repents of attempting to even influence her… but he begs to be made her mewling little bitch. Her toy and her slave. Her  _ worm _ .

The thought makes her plushly perfect pussy clench and gush, and her internal  **NEED** growl like a starving woman's belly.

Call forth suffering, the  **NEED** demands.  _ Dominate _ ! it screams. Abuse, control, manipulate--  _ fuck  _ his mind until it has the consistency of  _ gel  _ for you to reshape as you will!

Call  _ this _ the Sadism Drive, for suffering results one way or another. Especially since she needs to cause much more of it than to suffer herself. So very, very much more.

And she's capable of it, too.

Two of the three Drives.

The last one is something humans think they have, but don't. Courtney parroted "discussions" and lectures about sex drives the way teens and college students do, but in recent years, the occasional challenge had been heard. Just in passing-- little social, "Did you  _ know _ ?" memes that a young woman's mind tends to latch on to because she's got an operating pussy and a set of early-20s hormones.

"Did you know humans don't have a sex drive? Not  _ really _ . Drives are what you need to survive! We've got a sex  _ urge! _ " or something like that.

_ Well… I guess I'm not a human being anymore! _ The thought is a ragged edge of half-mad laughter, tinged with sorrow. The need to hurt is of course much more horrifying. She's a good woman…

Or rather, Courtney Whitmore  _ was _ a good woman.

When she was a woman. Now she's a Hunter. And she's going to need to cum forty times a day for the rest of her life… or starve into madness, then death.

She can even see what forms the madness will take, too… Barbara, mom-- protected. Patricia, sister-- protect unto death.

No one else will matter.

The first formation of the madness. The nearest. The dearest.

The one whom she'll take first. Because doing so would hurt her.

It'll be all the easier to feed herself, for the twisted savagery to go back to sleep, after all, if it makes her suffer.

_ I'll go after Pat first. I will. Oh, Gaia-Geb, I will! _

And she knows who to blame.  _ He's even volunteered, _ she thinks, eyes bright as she considers the absurdly slow Cro-Magnon, barely waking.

Courtney is not, in fact, a perky little empty-headed blonde. The cheerful persona the world sees is a hard-won victory over youth, hormones, and the trauma of a blended home. "I don't  _ do _ perky," she's said before.

It's not entirely true, of course. Just like she's always been smarter than she gave herself credit for, even before the Pulse made her a genius on the scale that Lex Luthor believes he is. She's an enthusiastic, strong-hearted, kinesthetic, and, yes, hyperactive young woman who's just barely past the halfway mark on getting her bachelor's degree. She had a life, a legacy, and a future on those terms.

Now, she is strong enough to own the future, not just protect it. Now she's smart enough to decide the future, not just build it. Now she's fast enough to catch the present; with senses keen enough to walk through even the past that wasn't her and the parts of the present that command the future.

Now, Courtney Whitmore is a monster far greater than the tiny, stunned immortal named Vandal Savage.  _ I'm horny. He's food. _

_ Am I sure there's anything else to be said? Really? _ Her core remembers that there is. It's not in charge right now.

She's never been ashamed of her sexuality, but she was perhaps a bit inhibited thanks to well-meaning elder statesmen superheroes, the Justice Society of America. But when the Pulse hit her, she was swept not merely into power and pain, but into a relentless set of drives, hammering her into a literal hunger for sex, cruelty, and pain. Without them, she will go insane, then die.

Courtney Whitmore has only ever had even close to a killing rage once. Just once: when her helpless family was (temporarily) gunned down by time-traveling fascists.

She has certainly never wanted to rape or torture. Perhaps a few wistful thoughts about kink as explained by less inhibited friends. The woman known as Stargirl grew from a depressed and impatient teen to become one of the greatest legacy superheroes of the modern age.

All the greater for often being only a masked face in a costume crowd.

Not simply for what she has accomplished with the JSA and on her own, but because she was precisely what the JSA was reconstituted to shepherd: a natural, instinctive hero.

A gleaming soul, a shining beacon that has sheltered many and lead others safe to shore. Even her younger surliness has been washed away into a joyful stubbornness. Courtney has a moral and ethical brightness that inspires, a soul that never stopped searching for a better way, a better future, and the better part of even her foes.

That soul is now trapped in a body that sees Vandal Savage's dark form as nothing more than a combo platter. Weak enough to exert herself upon; sturdy enough to withstand some of the exertion, and capable of healing much of what isn't contained. The sensory panorama that drips over him screams it.

He's starting to sit up. To her amazement-- and then concern that it amazes her-- he trembles just from the effort to push himself up. Her  _ pinky _ could lift her whole body-- and a few spare  _ battleships _ .

In less time than it takes for a single shake of his tremors, her pussy starts to juice, and she has to carefully control her jaw to avoid licking her chops at how pretty Vandal Savage has just become.

Not because she's suddenly developed a taste for much older men.

Not because she wants to see what a villain can do.

But because he's  _ so fucking weak _ it makes her  **NEED** flare with desire-- and make her clit burn with pleasure all at the same time.

_ Shoulders: not even as broad as poor tiny Ted Grant. Chest width-- hah, I bet he couldn't pull a Seven-Forty-Seven with his whole body-- I can do that with my fingertips. Are those arms, or are those  _ fingers? _ And as for that dick… _ Her tongue wants to stroke along her plump, honeyed lips but her discipline remains intact.

She just drools, as one might, left sleeping.

In the world outside her mind's frozen moment of hyper-fast thoughts, Vandal Savage wakes. Stumbling to his feet, he kneels again anyway-- searching through his bag for survival gear. Flailing, panicked,  _ clumsy _ .

So weak, and yet...  _ It's his fault I'm SO FUCKING HUNGRY! HIS FAULT! _ He's got her trapped and on the defensive.

He finds the little LED lamp, sticking it up at just above head level for himself. It takes her multiple nanoseconds to remember why he'd bother.  _ It's so bri-- right. Human. Weak eyes too. Bitch. _

The pretty contrast of sickly purple and burning blue does not appease Courtney.  _ He's the one keeping me from sex and pain-- and refusing to give himself to me to boot. It's his fault that I'm being driven closer to… closer to... _ .

_ Closer to fucking Pat! No no no nononono! _ The worse the inner rage gets, the harder it becomes to remember that her foe has no idea what he's doing or what's happening to her. And she loses the ability to care very quickly.

Venom fills her, directed at Vandal Savage. She's still cautious about his repeated ability to hamper and stymie her; unsure whether he managed to knock her down and out by accident or plan. And she's revolted by the thought that he'd get her again.

But she blames him. Even while part of her scans the  _ Manuals of the Labyrinth _ in-depth, her soft, almost entirely vanished conscience suddenly aligns with her urge to feed. Together, they make her prepare to take steps-- cautious, slow… and perfectly planned.

Courtney didn't have to force him to look up from the  _ Manuals _ . She wouldn't have to-- doesn't-- but he doesn't have a perfect, perfectly spherical, and near-perfectly penetrating vision. So he's losing ground, the wimp.

_ To leer at me. Oh, Van, Van, Van… _ She experimentally twists her wrists and rolls in her fingers. Just a light squeeze, making her forearms flare up bigger than stone support columns and carrying more definition than a full suite of Ms. Olympia competitors… holding dictionaries on their heads.

It barely adds twenty or thirty centimeters to her upper arm's circumference. Nothing, really. And in his dusty trousers, the twenty-five-centimeter cock of Vandal Savage, pathetically undersized-- that's ten inches imperial, and she scorns it as unworthy of her-- gets so hard it's almost as thick as one of her fingers.

As she rolls around in her "sleep," she flings her long, flowing locks around, slinks colossal shoulders, and even more gigantic hips this way and that. Pumping and lightly tensing, she keeps her body in a slow, constant display of sensuous, sinful strength.

And the so-called World's Greatest Tyrant-- she can see how he thinks of himself; it's trivial to invent the neurology on the spot to literally read his mind-- the oh-so-superior Only Adult In The Room…

Can't keep reading his tomes. He's got something more compelling in mind. Or rather..

Courtney compels his mind to her body.

Her "unconscious" flexing and stretching tugs along lines of immense striation. Vandal Savage's knees tremble and his body shifts into a position of reverence, will he or nil he. She can see the thoughts and emotions flare in his neurobiology.

_ Desperate for a spell to control  _ me? _ You dare? Foolish little slut. You'd be better off spending your time ending the circle and literally kissing my ass-- that's your only way to hope to influence ME! _

The strong parts of Courtney Whitmore, the true strength-- moral and soul-- have lost the fight, for now. Outnumbered by the weakness of her lust and the Hungers, for now, they compose mental threads that barely disturb the collective whole in the least. The majority of her that isn't involved in developing new forms of science, inventing the basics of magical theory and mastering some of the most obscure and dangerous forms entirely in her own head…

And she is  _ mastering  _ it…

Is instead considering what to do with her new slave.  _ He volunteered, _ Courtney insists.  _ He put me here, he put up the circle-- hell, he gave me the second Pulse. _

_ The little slut even thinks to own  _ me. _ Fuck that. If he wants to play for those stakes, his ass is on the line, too. _

Inwardly and mentally alone, she smiles a terrible grin.  _ I don't think he'll succeed. So how shall I make my victory fun? _

Vandal Savage gets chills just looking at her. Trembles, fingers and body alike. Slamming his book shut, almost knocking it out of his hands.

And he just keeps staring at her when he should be reading the text. Drooling over her. Contempt flares further in Courtney when the stupid little male actually damages the book with a papercut.

_ This is the man who ordered my family killed? Who's tortured and killed friends of mine? This little, quivering  _ wretch _ thinks himself the greatest tyrant produced by history? _

_ By the history of men, I suppose he might be. _ Her thunderstorm thighs, thick with muscle and lush with curvaceous fat, spread, exposing her dripping pussy's gorgeous pink folds and beautiful blonde bush to the cool cavern air.

_ To me… To me, he's  _ food _. Someone to rape. Someone to hurt. Someone to  _ dominate _. Hell, he's zotted me a few times and fed my other Drive! Such a tasty little morsel is my slave to be. _

Finally, he finds  _ The Intoxication of Sekhmet _ . Actually manages to cast it, tripping over his own tongue. Centuries of his life pour into it. His fingers barely make the correct signs.

_ I guess it might be like a single glass of watered wine? Maybe? But it is inspirational… _

Vandal Savage is-- and not just by Courtney's new standards-- clumsy, tired, and hurting. Distracted by her beauty and her threat-- hell, he's mumbling to himself about how powerful Courtney is. "No! ... damn them all, this is worse than that alternate Klarn! What did those fools  _ do? _ "

_ They tried to stop us, _ she thinks, and she isn't offended. They were afraid.  _ They tried to stop us… And all they did was make us. _

Now Van, he manages to offend her. Not leering at her biceps, no. How much he drools over her slumbering, barely tensed peaks? How afraid he is of them?

How hard knowing his  _ thighs _ are shrimpier?

That pleases her. That's right.

But all the while he's worshiping her with his eyes… Van  _ isn't _ freeing her. A sin. A blasphemy.

He's making  _ her _ Hunger and want. And while he's being a rude little bitch… He's thinking gleeful thoughts about making her tear S.T.R.I.P.E. open and murder her stepfather. About the looks on the faces of her family, and the Justice Society.

_ See? _ she tells her conscience.  _ He wants me to hurt Pat! He's betting his ass that he can control mine. _

_ He. Belongs. To. Me! _ _ And he will pay so dearly for endangering my family-- then, now, forever! _

The pythonic bulges that run along her limbs shift and roll and even  _ snap _ in her "sleep." His eyes are drawn to them-- to towers of strength. His mind does the comparisons for her, screaming and whimpering to himself…

And her musk floods their little portion of the cavern.

It's so nice hearing his mind babble. Like he was saying it out loud. "Her legs are thicker than-- than my arms are long! Her pecs-- if I curled up in a ball would I even be as large as th-those? Oh no, oh no… now she's flexing! Now it's worse!"

Vandal Savage--  _ My sexy little wimp, my naughty slave, my meat, my Van!-- _ is under the spell of her muscles so deeply. Not to mention her lushly enrapturing curves, too! He's so far down that he's actually mouthing some of the words he refuses to believe he's thinking.

That, too, distracts him. A plan comes together. She squeezes her ass, making powerful glutes bulge  _ out _ and jiggly buttocks bounce around-- softly hypnotic at first, then the terrifying threat of the chiseled muscle becomes predominant.

Muscles pull and muscles tighten and muscles swell with power. The striation spreads, too, almost infinite crinkly little lines of tightness. He's lost, lost in  _ her _ .

She almost giggles, catching herself when he starts to panic-- she can  _ see _ his memories fading into her. See the Old Hunters, how they fucked him hard-- she takes notes.

Sees the panic drive him nearly mad, but not nearly enough. "Let's see," he whimpers in terror, and flips to a spell based on Inanna. "This should do it-- this sh-sh-should st… st… strengthen those w- _ wards _ nicely!"

Honestly, if she didn't stop playing around, he'd have flubbed the spell and could have accidentally teleported her!  _ He'll fail when and how I demand. _

The plan forms. Let him start to succumb to exhaustion-- so it will hurt more when she wakes him.

She does, screaming and pretending pain. He smacks his head right back into a half-dislodged brick. It's so funny, and so  _ tasty _ that it makes her pussy juice over her fingertips as she "hides" her sex with one hand.

It's so easy for Courtney to scream louder and higher than his scream of pain. "Ahhhhhhhh!" Everything she does is better than him, after all.

Her body is under her control-- even if the Hungers control  _ her _ more than a bit. Even while Van scrambles to find the  _ Manuals, _ he keeps turning back to stare at the ongoing jiggle and bounce of her breasts.

He's trying to find means to compel her; and all the while, her titties whisper at him to sleep, to drool, to lust. They whisper in every jiggle and wobble, the great mounds, fat, succulent, and bigger than he is.

Courtney's enormous muscles command him, too. Proportionate and shapely despite their gargantuan  _ mass _ , they move with resonant beauty. Even her very flexing, her deliberately exaggerated pump and bulge, creates a rippling motion that goes on and on…

And on, traveling to functional infinities with her tertiary muscles. Layered on and around each other and the enormous primary hulk, each one resembles the overall muscle it surrounds and supports, and works with it in parallel.  _ Power _ and beauty work together, in parallel, and his jaw actually drops low enough that he's drooling while he searches the  _ Manual. _

Mostly searching the  _ Manual. _ Sometimes searching the  _ Manual. _ It amuses her.  _ My little slut-snack-to-be is a leg man, I see. Will he love my thighs properly when they're wrapped around him and SQUEEZING? _

Because his eyes keep drifting from the  _ Manual _ to her quads. Not just subtle little flicks out of the corner, either-- his whole body turns to look at her, then jerks back to the manual, then slowly turns back.

It becomes predictable, to Courtney's powerful mind. So much so that, opening her mouth just a bit more in her scream, she modulates her flexing and bouncing to make better use of his perpetual distraction.

Making Vandal Savage contribute to fucking his own mind. And he should. She's not about to let any of  _ her _ men slack and let her do all the work!

No, his jerky motions are soon adding a subliminal enhancement. Forcing his longing looks to travel  _ down _ as well as back and forth. To the lower heads of her quads first, bowed out so broad they're almost touching even with her legs spread at a slight angle.

Then down to her shins, to the banded outline of enormous calves like giant fists squeezing, far larger than his head…

Towards her feet.

Where he belongs.

Time for phase two.  _ I'd love to let you stay in subspace sweetie, _ she coos at him mentally.  _ But naughty little bitches don't get to escape pain by submitting. You submit first,  _ then _ pain becomes your pleasure. Heh… heh… heh… _

Her soul weeps, but her core clenches with delight. She cums again, gasping and shuddering and moaning and he's too hazed out to even tell it's anything but her own feigned terror. He's falling down into a kind of waking slumber, pulled out of his own perspective and becoming meditatively one with the crushed concrete beneath her feet.

So she screams again. "YOU PERVERT!" she faux-wails, throwing the pretense of pain and despair into her climaxing cries. He's slashed with cognitive dissonance now-- ripped out of the comforting haze of the trance, whipped by her sinuous and  _ sexual _ her jiggling, bouncing, bulging body is, and slapped by the faux-innocence for good measure.

Van whines to himself under his breath. "M-m-most unfair… I didn't… I d-didn't…"

Courtney would pity him, if the stupid slut wasn't back to thinking of her as  _ perky _ \-- and worse, dumb.

So she starts to bum-and-grind.  _ Hardcore _ . Really, really juicing it up. Tensing her ass into a perpetual series of clapping twerks, making sure her rippling abs tilt her torso around so he can see the edges of them roll on.

Her legs shift and tug, gargantuan quads pulsing and squeezing and her mammoth calves pumping back and forth. Her knees duck and her lewdly curved hips gyrate in sync with the whirl of her shoulders and the thrust of her tits.

_ Mmm, not just a leg man, huh, honey? _ Van's trapped now, his eyes going wide as her abs roll up and down in place in time-- leaving him a slave to their dance as well.

Courtney makes sure to keep the waterworks going, and not just her drooling slit. Tears fall down her cheeks as she bunches her hands up into big fists and makes rowing motions with her arms-- as she sends her head flowing back and forth. She's giving him the most pornographic dance imaginable…

Complete with a muscle fetish show to end all muscle fetish shows…

And the stupid tool  _ still _ thinks she's innocent. Even when her earthy moans turn earthier, hornier. Even when her thighs part and show off another climax…

_ I wish I could satisfy myself, but they don't seem to count as much as when I cum because I've hurt him. He's going to be a real disappointment between my thighs-- he's the selfish type, I'm sure-- but it won't be the same. I need him… _

_ And he's still not crossing the circle! Not to kiss away my tears, not to kiss my feet, not to kiss my clit! _ She makes sure to add an extra bumpy bump to the next sets of grind.

A last chance warning-- get over here and eat me out, or suffer the consequences.

But while Van's mind falls yet still further under her sway… It's not enough, not fast enough, and he's being stubborn. He's stunned, not obedient.

_ He's going to PAY! _


	11. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Thinkie Chapters lie ahead.
> 
> We return to the moment of the strike. To the place where Courtney's tears race her truly prodigious ass to the ground. Pain.
> 
> Because deep inside the colossal Hunter is a Hunger that stretches out, not merely for the overwhelmed Vandal Savage...
> 
> But for Jay Garrick. Alan Scott. Ted Grant...
> 
> And even Pat Dugan. Mentor. Friend.
> 
> Stepfather; the father of her heart.
> 
> Her eidetic memory and a lifetime of moral development will not let her rest. She cannot simply say, "these men (and the occasional woman) are good, and these are bad." She cannot even say, "these are bad enough."
> 
> Rape should not repay rape. But she must feed. Empathy has been one of her most defining characteristics, making her worthy not merely of the Cosmic Converter Belt she took from Pat's hidden mementos, but the Cosmic Staff itself.
> 
> But she must feed.
> 
> Now, Courtney Whitmore must find a way to feed the Three Hungers and not devour her own soul along with sex and two spicy flavors of pain.

Much the rest of the time owning her new fucktoy is much the same. The heroic heart of Courtney Whitmore is stuffed beneath her increasingly maddened need. The longer she goes without being able to directly fuck him, the Hungrier she gets.

Between the majesty of her muscles and the incredible shapeliness of her curves, Vandal Savage is hooked. He can barely speak, barely think, and that's how she got him. How she broke him, and broke the circle.

Raping Vandal Savage was the second-greatest rush of her life. Nothing can compare with the Pulse, but as inadequate and  _ disappointing _ as the First Murderer was as a submissive-- and he definitely was inadequate, disappointing, and as subby as all get-go-- each time she came from dominating him, or over his abused body, it made each orgasm feed her Hungers all the more.

The ultimate high. Utterly demolishing all but a tiny fraction of Vandal Savage's ego, and then grinding  _ that _ out even tinier beneath her bootheel-- hell! Beneath the fleshy-firm cheeks of her ass.

Barring the unique advent of the Pulse, there has  _ never _ been an orgasm to equal that she gets from dominating Van. Her Hungers insure it. Flood her mega-amazonian body and reward her, again and again. It's incredible.

It's amazing.

It's horrifying.

Before she even finishes raping his face the horror threatens to overwhelm her. If she was a whit better fed, she'd be able to haul herself back from the brink. As it is, she has to ride behind the lustiness in her body.

As a reward for worshiping her muscles like the slave and worm he is, Courtney threatens him with complete, brutal castration. With pain-- with violation.

She strips him, baring his adorably weak body to the increasingly heated cavern air.

_ He still doesn't understand, _ she thinks, not mistaking his adoration for comprehension in the least, but she's sure it seems so to Van.

She threatens and terrifies, but at last, at  _ last _ , as he screams, she finds some gentleness. Some brief reserve with which to promise him safety-- so long as he feeds her.

_ Yeah, because I've been so rewarding for his submission thus far, _ Courtney mourns. But she can't let him go-- she knows that now. She's proved it, she can well imagine how much worse her starvation berserk can become. So she walks him through into the oblivion of submission.

"There we go, honey," she coos, and his brains cum like he knows he can't allow his balls. He has an orgasm of the mind, squirting his self-importance, self-pride, and even self-identity out like his watery little cum.

"Just like that. Let all that nasty ego out. Even the superego can go, little guy…"

_ You don't need them, my poor little supervillain, _ she pities him with a smile.  _ Let me destroy you a little more, please? A final feeding, so I can think clearly. _

Because that's what this is. When Courtney tells him to succumb to his id and id alone, it makes her feel so good when he gives him. Makes her feel good.

Van falls into his id, his lusts and animal desires, that are already her slave for life, and thus in some strange way, far safer from her than any amount of personhood can make him.  _ I'm a monster. I'm a fucking monster! _

She truly enjoys being a monster. Deep-throating Vandal Savage's  _ soul _ and swallowing it all down-- it fills her and feeds her and satisfies her. Every loving little kiss he plants onto her bicep fills her preternatural belly, her Hunger for dominance so very, very well.

And from that feeding, she rises, mourning like a phoenix returned without her mate.

So that's why she cries-- as soon as there's no weakness to confuse him with. Nothing that might make him think he had to try to be a person.  _ If I can't treat him as a person, he damn well at least deserves not to have the burdens of being one. _

Van collapses.

So does Courtney, sobbing. "Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck! _ " she whispers, intense but quiet. Trying to bite it back like she was completely unable to do with her Hungers while he was awake.

Her cabled neck tenses and her eyes go wide. Her huge fists curl, and her forearms and biceps bulge out in stark relief.  _ Yes. Yes, I can hold back now. _

That's when Courtney realizes she does, in fact, still have her soul.  _ It's wounded, _ she thinks, drained.  _ So much of me-- it was so easy to just turn into an awful rape-monster. _

Her tears are real now. Not for Vandal Savage, but for what he represents, indeed.  _ Can I keep my soul, when I Hunger like this? _ She sniffs, smiling a bit at her own maudlin foolishness and trying not to be  _ too _ taken in by the hypnotic wobble of her own breasts.

_ Stargirl, become super-uber-badass beyond belief, must now fight for her very SOUL! _ Courtney thinks, making a Pretend Narrator Voice in her head.  _ Can she keep it? Or will the sensuous and ravenous drives within her do what no other villain could-- put out the light of Stargirl? _

Her smile becomes a grimace. Her jaws grind together, her lips curling back. Uselessly, her eyes squeeze shut; she sees nearly as clear with them closed as with them open.

_ I don't want to do this. I don't want to BE this! _ Her chant-- her silent scream accompanying each strangled cry of Vandal Savage-- goes on. 

In her mind, it screams out, echoing throughout the cavern.  _ Please-- I don't want this! _ she cries to the darkness, to the Earth her-himself.

The changed Earth is silent. Her change, she knows, is irrevocable. So she weeps.

And gets angry.

Courtney still refuses to let that grief win.  _ Do something, Courtney, _ Pat had counselled.  _ Do anything, even something stupid. Whatever you do, don't just freeze up. _

_ Of course, he was talking about if someone tried to kidnap me and I didn't have access to the belt or something. _

So Courtney checks over Vandal Savage, her pathetic little Van.  _ Just like he thought he'd done with me. Only, well… _

Unlike her Van, she has a host of ways to check that he's really out. She saw it happening to him--  _ really _ saw his body switch from active agony into soothing sleep. Her expanded perceptions detected the biochemical signals, the overload going in and the autonomic coming back out.

She gets to feel Van's limp body collapse over one of her colossal tits, pleasuring her intimately as he falls. Weeping is joined by unsteady, ragged panting. Pain and pleasure.

_ Just what my body tells me it needs. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! _

_ At least I have the time to think and to take care of my messes. Messy little Van, _ she purrs to herself.

To her surprise, it works; she can think positively about him so long as she thinks of him as a pet-- as property _. _ Courtney sweeps him horizontal in a smooth motion. His eighty kilogram body is no more weight on her palms than the light scattering of dust her earlier, giggling skipping about caused to fall on her shoulders.

Her eyes glitter lightly above a smile that'd be shy, if it weren't for the lascivious quirk. Van's cute like this.  _ There's a nice set to his body when he's not got the Stick of Hubris up his ass. _

"K," she mutters. "Guess… that's done?" But she knows that unconsciousness isn't an end.

Just a pause.

There's enough evidence such that she can be far more certain of his unconsciousness than he was of hers. Nonetheless, at first, all she does is move with another little flash of speed. She was already intimately close, her huge arm receiving its due worship from Van's lips and tongue.

_ It felt so good. No-- it… felt right. Like that was what his tongue was for. Oh, God! _

As she sets him to rest, she's already planning for the rest of the night. She calculates both the distances to the nearest of the monstrous threats lurking far out in the shadows, and how long the trip back to the surface will take. Finding the former to be sufficient for her prize's safety and the latter only about the fifth or sixth depressing thing on her vast list.

Which is why, once she has  _ him _ down, she lets the shakes  _ really _ run through her.

Her weeping before was just a preview. Immense muscles quake, the strength to stop Richter-scale explosions caught in sudden, swift shudders. She rapidly rocks her whole body down, the beautiful plush of her ass squooshing down to the ruined concrete fast enough to make a localized thunderclap but agile enough to prevent the sonic boom that should have been sent instead.

She's racing her own heart to the ground, even the controlled descent kicking up little gusts and tornados on the way.

Control is so hard for Courtney now, the sudden rush of emotions and desires and  _ starving _ needs rampaging out of her control.  _ I could get him hard again-- it would be so easy. Who cares if he's awake? _

_ He's just meat, anyway. _

Without having to focus on either implementing her escape plan or satisfying herself, tormenting Van, she can't hold them in check.  _ I care! I care! I fucking have to care!  _ And that's dangerous. Very dangerous indeed.

The lingering torment of the  **NEED** \-- of the Three Drives clamping their jaws into her skin-- piercing muscle and bone-- swarming organs-- devouring cells!-- not to mention howling in her mind and corroding her soul…

Ebbs. The compulsion to devastate-- to do  _ anything _ to make her body stop devouring itself-- drains away like the lingering pleasure of her feeble slave, bouncing off her body. And with it falls the last of the shields against the horrors she's committed.

The concrete turns to powder, cratering under Courtney's delectable rump. It shouldn't have; her mass may be greatly expanded, in unthinkable density, but she can walk on it without damaging it. She just miss-manages her fall, slamming a micrometer too far and far, far too hard when she shoves herself into a comforting position.

"Great," she sniffles. "Klutzy again. I thought I left growing pains behind years ago!"

"Great," she mumbles, repeating herself. "I'm crying over Vandal Savage." She coughs again, snuggling her face against the bulky heft of her forearm.

"Well, kinda. Not mourning the shithead or anything. And it's not like he really hurt me." Any injury of his feeble spells is long-since healed. "B-b-but…"

Courtney inhales heavily, rock-hard abs curling in deep, like a stormy wave. "And… No," she whispers. "It's not guilt. Not for that."

She holds up one of her huge hands, remembering how she hurt Van. "No. And not for what I'm going to do. I'm  _ going _ to do more. It wouldn't be fair to cry over that. I'm going to be selfish enough."

She looks up, towards where the stars should be. "Why are you crying, Court?" she asks herself, faux-deepening her voice in imitation of a masculine tone she far outweighs now.

"What's wrong, kiddo? Vandal Savage's a nutcase. You didn't hafta be so hard, but you can get up, you can!" She hangs her head back into the embrace of her burly arms.

The memory of faces comes to her with the voice. Jay Garrick. Alan Scott. Ted Grant. The first Flash, the first Green Lantern, the first Wildcat. Trainers, teachers, mentors. And Pat Dugan, Stripesy and S.T.R.I.P.E.

"Because, Pat," she whispers to her stepfather, so far away in body and, she is morbidly certain, in heart. "It's so hard. I'm crying because I can barely even think of him as someone TO feel guilty over."

She shudders into silence. Not even sniffles now.  _ It'd be pretty bad if I was just having problems remembering to regret tormenting him with all this… sexy me-ness, and bullying the fuck out of him with my new strength. Just because he's a villain. That way lies Black Adam, and Bialya. _

_I want my_ AL! parts of Courtney Whitmore scream. Both that which rages against being denied her due and that which needs comfort so very badly.

Her knowledge of ethics, now augmented by an intelligence vaster than that of an entire planet of geniuses working as one, is no less secure than when she was a hero born of starlight.

It's a mess, those ethics and their philosophical roots muddled in with the certainty of her Hungers.

Still. Little truths float to the top.

_ Rape and torture are not just punishments for rape and torture. _ Courtney knows it. She knew it before, and her mind details a thousand ways in which it is true.

_ Crime doesn't justify crime. Vileness doesn't excuse vileness. There's a difference between punching someone in the face because they're trying to kill someone, and the attempt to kill in the first place. _

Her head is buried in her embrace, but she can still see to the limits of her vision.  _ There's a difference between just imprisonment and kidnapping. There are standards. _

_ More-- there's fairness. There's ways to  _ make _ vigilantism just _ . _ I can see so many ways to protect society and preserve that difference. _

_ But there's no difference between raping someone and, well, raping someone. _

_ It's just wrong. Not even fifty thousand years of those-- and worse-- can justify doing… what I want… what I need, to him. _

Tears glisten around her eyes. Her newly-eidetic memory brings forth chorus of gentle, older voices kindly repeating truths she knew by instinct then, and by philosophical genius now _. Character is what we do in the dark. Even if nothing is ever dark to me again. _

_ Ga-- God. They were proud of me! They were proud of what I am in the dark. What I  _ was _ in the dark. _

Her teardrops bounce off her heavy yet perky breasts, sliding across her sensitive, naked skin. The path they mark-- down-- follows her mood into horror.

Horror at what she has to do to live. What her body will make her do anyway. Especially if the trap of fucking Vandal Savage swings shut completely. He's no threat to her physically. No danger that he'll be able to confound her mind.

But he's a temptation. A temptation for Courtney to treat her victim as  _ deserving _ everything she does to him-- everything she does to feed. And that's where it gets worse, because no matter how good her fingers can get at pussy pleasing…

She can predict to the second how long she has before those needs become dangerous. Call it starvation, call it parched… not quite drowning, desperate for air. Somewhere in between hunger and thirst, she now needs to fulfill three terrible Drives multiple times a day. But there are ways and means to channel such things.

There's a certain clinical feel to it, even.  _ Forty orgasms a day. I think. Something's weird about it. I'm going to-- heh… I'm going to… _

Her shudders become a sobbed mumble of, "I'm going to have to experiment, is what I'm going to have to do…"

_ There's a worse than "you need to jill off forty times a day and maybe it only works with a partner or two." Regardless of their opinions on the matter. How did I get a worse than that? _

Empathy. Empathy is the problem. She can discern the exact physiological root of every emotion in anyone, even an ancient liar like Vandal Savage. She can see his hormones, decipher his body language like it was shouted, hear the tremors and subtle variances in his tone-- everything.

_ You're wandering, Court. That's not the empathy that's making you a monster as it says buh-bye to your brain. I can remember my first steps, my first word now… _

_ I can remember empathy! At least… I can remember what it was… _

She groans.  _ What it is now, though… That I'm not so sure. _ Memories that never formed aren't available, and those that were distorted will remain so. But she will never forget even the tiniest detail ever again, and her old memories can be reviewed and comprehended in a heartbeat.

_ Yeah... I remember empathy, only... _

_ Only with just a few exceptions, like Superboy-PRIME of all evil fuckheads, it feels like I was being stupid. Immoral, even. For anyone who can't punch time? _

She sighs, hugging herself tighter.  _ Enemy, ally, rival or just bystander-- kid on street with a cat up a tree, even!-- it doesn't matter. Thinking of them, thinking of my FRIENDS even, as being people whose needs and choices are equal to my own? _

Her stomach twists. _ Like a serious, "You fucked up big time, Court" moment. Like, "You trusted Patton to wait five minutes so now there's dog shit over the living room. floor" bad. _

Genius is of no use if your brain is trying to convince you that your fundamental assumptions are wrong. That's why supervillains of the labcoat set keep saying things like, "Nobody can stop me now!" Then wonder why some "trifling sub-intellect in bright tights" is whomping them.

_ But what happens when you have two diametrically opposite assumptions-- and can't drop either of them? I couldn't even  _ presume _ empathy while I was fucking him. I'm not one hundred percent certain why I am now. _

_ It can't be that simple. _

Courtney Whitmore is a colossus in muscles and curves now. A pornographic one, especially naked as she is. But the ravenous hunger in her to commit cruelty makes her feel like a yawning gulf, a negative hole in space.  _ That's not… it's weird. _

She looks over at the unconscious form of Vandal Savage.  _ Enemy or plaything, I look at him, and I'm  _ so fucking HUNGRY _ for pain I want to leap on him. But-- that doesn't make me think of him as less than a person.  _ She can see him in her mind's eye: a cute collar, and that special outfit she has picked out just for him.

_ The collar's the thing. Not enemy, not blow-up cavedoll/punching bag. Pet. _

_ And that's what humans and metahumans are, now. Or at least, if I don't catch myself… That's what I think of them as. _

Just as heavily as her heart tells her to grab Van's unconscious body and fit it between her thighs to feast on sex and sadism, it tells her…  _ He's worth protecting. There's so much potential in him-- in humanity, too. I want to feed him up, take him to the gym, give him a nice haircut… _

_ And then sit on his head and squeeze his skull with my quads until I cum on his screaming face. _

She thinks of her mother. She thinks of how much her mother will weep when she sees what New Courtney is going to have to do.  _ Mom, I love you...  _

_ I wish it wasn't so hard for me to think of your need for space to grieve losing your daughter to monstrosity… as being equal to my desire to hang out with the fam occasionally. And it's the same for everyone else. _

_ Needs, sure. Worth nurturing, yep, I'm going to buy the world a nutritious, filling Coke-alternative, you betcha. But if the choice is between getting my clit off and feeding a starving kid… _

Long, blonde hair still trapped in her self-hug, Courtney looks up and out into a darkness that she sees bright as day. "I know why this is a fucked up set of priorities, but, given the choice… why is it so fucking hard thinking of 'get hungry child a sandwich' as being more important than 'Courtney cums, now!'?"

_ Even the ones I love best. My Al. Mom. Pat. Patricia. Mike, even! They feel like a bunch of pets. _

_ Smarter versions of Patton. Yeah, to be tended and cared for… Listen to them and talk to them, of course! _

_ They need to feel like I love them. _

_ If they're the pets. And I'm the owner. _ Her pupils flick left and right.

Her direct gaze is more powerful than her sphere of vision, but none of it can pierce unworked stone. A poisonous part of her reminds her that hey, no one asks Patton if he wants to have food now. And when he woofs at being nudged out of the way… well, he can just go woof.

The maniacal pain ebbs a bit as her moral fortitude wanes with it.  _ That doesn't mean I don't love them. It's just… I'm the person now. _

_ I'm smarter than they are, stronger than they are, and I can change the world. So what I want… goes. Right? _

Vandal Savage is the common ancestor of all metahumans. By blood and marriage, he's probably the common ancestor of all of humanity-- including the Atlanteans! Looking at him, Courtney can imagine the march of billions, walking by, her former species on parade.

She remembers when she stopped thinking of heroism as only "kick bad-guy butt!" and started thinking of it as "ways to help people no one else can do."  _ Now… Now I can make them so much better. But everyone else is so dumb, they've always BEEN dumb. _

_ Okay, yes, people have needs and feelings and should be cultivated and taken care of, mostly. Especially those… people… I own. _

Her exhalations are heavy, squeezing and rubbing her breasts between burly arms and immense thighs like a pair of oversized bookbags. "So that's logic, right?" she asks the darkness, ignoring Van's prone form.

Courtney sighs. The brilliant darkness is a good listener, but not a great conversationalist. "Only… When I say mostly?" she mutters, and shrugs. "I don't just mean like Al did when Black Adam was whispering in his ear. Or Magog."

She glares at her victim. "I don't mean mostly as in 'except for horribly  _ rude _ murdering jerks who have done a ton of bad stuff and were very  _ snippy _ indeed.'" She reaches out to poke Van with a finger, grumbling as she watches the nerves transmit the pain to a brain that is not currently receiving callers.

"I mean it like he did," she says softly, and a chill runs through her that is the antithesis of 'a tit bit nipply.' Her arousal is dashed; her stiffness, softness. She looks at Vandal Savage once more.

"That's the thing," Courtney breathes. Links form. Concepts. "That's it-- that's why he fails so much, and I'm letting these powers and these Hungers make me as stupid about it as he is!"

She suppresses a squeal of happiness. It might make her fucktoy wake up, and she still needs to get this concrete. "So, right-- the  _ mostly _ is 'mostly they have needs, and mostly they have feelings.' And that way leads to Vandal Savage, and which of us is currently an unconscious, mostly naked fucktoy? Right. Van."

The sensation still makes the woman inside the Hunter weep, but she has it now.  _ Gotcha, _ she thinks at her instincts.  _ Gotcha by the scruff. Time to yank. _

_ So. Even thinking about those mostlies is pushing me to say "why even bother asking?" when thinking of humans. Even metas, even smart metas. _

She doesn't need to turn to look over at Van's slumbering form again. Not unless she's really curious about what her supplementary senses are reporting. If she wants to see if those really are atoms being  _ created _ to regrow tissue and bone crushed to powder. 

_ That's a difference, too, _ Courtney realizes.  _ That's part of what's pulling me away. I have no darkness behind my eyes any more. I can see in the dark or in blinding light; with her eyes closed, and all around. I see it all, and I remember it all. _

_ So let's take Van. Not the best example of a human person, but… he's what I've got. _

He's so slow, to her, but for a human, he's so smart. The things he's done… are so much less than what he could do.  _ Does he not see that he could have achieved his goals a hundred times over just in my lifetime if it wasn't for his biggest hindrance-- himself? _

_ How many small things have slowed Vandal Savage down? _ she asks herself.  _ How many times has the First Cannibal stopped to enjoy a meal when he needed to keep hunting? How many descendants needlessly antagonized because of his own stubborn insistence on "dur hurr I'm the real adult you mayflies even though you are adults socially and biologically and -- " _

_ Ugh. Point is-- he makes his own problems. If he's smart enough to see the likelihood of a self-fulfilling prophecy,  _ why _ can he not get this? _

That's where her instincts will take her, if she's not careful. But she can be smarter. She is smarter.

_ Compromise. I have to compromise between 'HA HA HA DANCE PUPPETS DANCE!' and 'It doesn't matter if I'm going to starve and go crazy and murder you later, but I'm going to be nice right now!' _

_ I'm not going to be either of those kinds of dumb. I refuse. But I'm also not going to lie to myself about humanity. _

Van isn't the only human, metahuman, or near-human whose pettiness and short-sighted foolishness have landed them in jail, gotten others killed, or worse.

Even the "intellectual property" and "where do I get lab space?" issues can be overcome with patience-- even for the real specialists.  _ Or should be. That's where I come in. _

She looks up, blue eyes searching the faux-heavens of the cavern roof. The act of tapping her finger on her chin makes the chiseled bulges of her forearm pump in and out, like a heartbeat.  _ So where do I draw the line? What do I do? _

_ I have a little sympathy for the "baby's sick, wife working three jobs, I have a gun that makes people think like the stereotype for a given crayon color, we need the money now," types. _

She can admit that. But sympathy isn't the same thing as permission. _ That's the sort of short-term thinking that you have to take care of before you can even  _ get _ to long-term thinking… _

_ Sympathy isn't a route to empathy, _ she realizes grimly.  _ Maybe it's a route to compromise, though? Maybe that's what I need-- not a compromise between different ways to lose empathy, but find a different reason for empathy to be valid? _

_ After all, those short-term problems wouldn't exist if people didn't put pride before process, habit before usefulness, and a host of other ways humans shoot themselves in the foot. Most crimes are crimes of desperation. Most desperation comes from scarcity. _

_ These days-- well, yesterday-- most scarcity comes not from real lack, but various people squatting on chokepoints and growing fat. _

_ Plus we have gadgeteers. _ Her heartbeat quickens. A smile returns to her face, briefly.

But when it vanishes, she doesn't start crying again. _ A  _ lot _ is going to be fucked up when I go home… and I don't know how willing I'll be to listen to Pat or Ted on "their" tech. _

_ When they don't want me to, say, use what I know of S.T.R.I.P.E. to build construction bots, or the Gravity Rod technology to power the grid. I mean… How many hospitals have to blow before it's okay for me to make sure they're powered by  _ STARLIGHT _ of all renewables… _

She nods.  _ I'm not going to be willing to listen… But I can be willing to hear. _

_ Because that's the other reason caring about people makes me give less of a shit about putting their wants and opinions even  _ near  _ my own in priority. I can see the actual starving babies everyone uses as rhetorical devices, thanks. I can see the people dying because we say addiction is a crime, not a disease. _

_ Am I going to take shit from some CEO or Congressthing when I can reach out my hand and say, "No, you may not have a thousand dollars per dose for a thirty-year old medication people need to live?" _

_ No I fucking well am not.  _ She bares her teeth in a savage, silent snarl.  _ I am sorry that people like Ted are going to worry about the tech, but hell… managing supers, that, I can fucking well do. _

She looks down at Van.  _ He's got more uses than just being a dildo, then. And people are multipurpose. He can be a dildo  _ and _ a useful advisor. _

She teeters on the edge of realization. Of finding her way between "I need rapegasms to live," "I am so powerful that no one else matters," and "Everyone DOES matter, because I won't be anything less."

But it's painful. So very, very painful. The snarl fades.

The logic keeps hammering at Courtney's habits, her instincts, her lifetime of kicking people using such logic in the face.  _ But it's not the same. I really am smarter, and I can think on so many different levels--  _ and _ I have the power to actualize all of it. _

_ … and my brain is making me use words like actualize. Yay. _ The thought has some humor to it, but far more pain.

Agony. Like she's empty and can never be filled. Like trying to is splitting her head wide open.

Blue-eyes, tearstained, glitter in the darkness. It's been a hell of a night. But she's figured out her path.

Courtney just wishes she didn't have to pave it.

Alone.


	12. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The answer to the dilemma of the Hungers is one that will be fought about for millennia. No matter the power of the Oathweb and the Reformulation, some Hunters will resist the Royal Pridelands simply because they feel that no one but themselves should ever determine what their world can be. That pain is its own answer.
> 
> And its own reward.
> 
> But in many ways, the answer Courtney Whitmore finds is the one that the most moral of Hunters take. "I must feed" is taken as an axiom, but, "I must feed" does not equal, "I will feed wherever I want." Courtney dedicates herself to finding sufficient feeding such that she does not become an even more insane rape-monster... but will always remember that she is taking. That she is hurting. That she is inflicting.
> 
> Perhaps she will accept that some criminals can be assigned to her harem, Vandal Savage first and foremost. Perhaps she will accept that volunteers can trade their pain for her protection and the protection of their families.
> 
> But Courtney knows, now and forever, that nothing anyone does will ever JUSTIFY what she must do.
> 
> And all repayments must therefore be made knowing that.
> 
> Even for using Vandal Savage as a cum-rag.

Sometime Later

Courtney Whitmore, tall and strong, beautiful and vast, sits beside the unconscious body of Vandal Savage. Her eyes are tearstained, but not for him. For what he represents.

For all the thrill and unholy glee that accompanied raping Van, it was only a single layer more true than her supposed terror and helplessness within the circle.

That layer is real. The foundation is the distance her powers place her from even the mightiest metas of the old age; the floorplan laid down by contempt, and then built by her body and her Hungers' rewards for acting on that contempt. Every time she fed herself on him, the thrill became more and more real.

But it isn't true to who Courtney is, and that's what she's wrestling with in the dark. An opponent that not only is strong enough to lay her low but that a thousand clones couldn't fight alongside her. As cliche as it is, she's fighting herself.

Powerful muscles bulge over naked, glistening skin. Her heavily defined arms squeeze up against heavy, heaving curves. But her eyes stare off-- not into the distance she knows intimately-- but to the future, cold and murky.

_ I have to face the facts.  _ The massive superheroine considers her body, outlined and imprinted in every intimate detail; her mind, mapped and plumbed, and what her soul must now feed.

_ If I try to deny what I am, no matter how pure my intentions, I will invoke monstrosity.  _ Her beautiful foot, ground down by her massive, bulging calf, in the face of Vandal Savage, but of a vast sea of humanity-- and indeed, her fellow Hunters… forever.

See a sea of faces-- the entire world of humanity. Billions of eyes seeking, billions of minds thinking. Were all of them connected, acting as one, they would see less, and know less, and err more than Courtney. Turn all of those faces into geniuses she loves and respects, like Pat Dugan and Ted Knight? Every last one?

She would be staring back down at them from all directions-- even behind and within herself. In comparison to her, they would still be cognitive  _ cockroaches. _

Not merely in computing power-- in perspective. One metaphorical swing of those lushly-padded hips, and Courtney steps over mere deformations in the floor to her and keeps moving. To even fantastic minds like Ted's? Those would seem insurmountable barriers.

Perspective. Courtney grimaces.  _ Oh, sure, a loftier perspective-- and in technical terms, I can see those bumps the same way they do… _

Her sensorium is a wondrous, vastly applicable gift. It doesn't change just how  _ emotionally _ distant she feels. She's got arms like bridge girders, with rolling spans of definition and tertiary muscles to make them look like boulders caught in a perpetual avalanche.

_ But keeping touch with who I was when the sun set seems outside my reach-- let alone the strength of my grasp. _

Courtney at sunset, willowy, lithe, and gymnast-strong, wielding technology so powerful it might as well be magic, still thought of your average, slightly overweight, definitely out of shape nine-to-fiver as having opinions, desires, and contributions that mattered. Someone who balanced with her.

Since the Pulse, and over the course of every millennia-long second since…  _ I feel like a fool then and worse a fool for wanting it now. Like I'm giving fleas votes on whether or not to be allowed to bite my skin. _

Useless, dangerous for the fleas, and an irritation for her.

And especially, how crushable even Superman would be… and how satisfying it would be to crush.

But that's easy to set herself against.  _ The worst part is fighting the thoughts that tell me that it's dangerous for these fleas I once called friends-- and worse, cruel to the ones dancing in my circus. _

The logic rolls on in Courtney's head, inescapable.  _ Ted's always said that the world isn't ready for the Gravity Rod-- and hasn't changed his mind in eighty years. _ Except…

She holds up one hand, broad, powerful, and deft.  _ Call… the sweat on this hand can carry the need of hospitals, the power grid, emergency services. Call this surgery by thought, and flying paramedics. _

Then she holds up the other hand, leans down, and daintily, strokes the tip with her long, dark tongue. Her head pulls back; veil of bright blonde hair dancing over her enormous traps to fall down across hardened pecs and shapely breasts. As the yellow strands fall forward, she puffs her sweet lips into a sweeter kiss, and blows air across the moisture left on her fingertip.

In a flash, only a single, tiny droplet remains, small enough to fall into the grooves of her fingerprint.  _ The dangers posed by a legion of corrupt, wicked-- let's say pre-Courtneyed Vandal Savages, armed with not just Gravity Rods, but Cosmic Converter Belts and Cosmic Staves. _

The enormous mega-amazon doesn't even have to look directly at her hands. She can weigh the matters quite clearly.  _ And that's why it's so hard to resist when my inner sneer says, "They say no, you say fuck 'em." _

Courtney's attention never left her cute little Cro-Magnon, of course. It doesn't have to. It doesn't even have to leave monitoring his whole body, vital statistics, and so forth and so on, even when most of her is moping over philosophy and ethics.

"Fuck 'em, huh?" Courtney whispers. Slowly, she sucks her lower lip in under her teeth, while her huge arm-- its shadow engulfing his entire frame even this close-- reaches out. Huge, taut muscles pulling at each other and magnifying the striated pattern of strength.

Her fingertips stroke over his inner thigh. Well-fed, she can admit that for a human, for a man, he's got some nice muscles. The whispering arrogance of her Hunter body and the Hungers tells her they're no more "muscles" than the fleshy, smooth globes of her buttocks, but she knows better, can see better, and she doesn't feel quite so crazed…

But when his twenty-five centimeter cock swings to attention, she has to throw not inconsiderable force into restraining herself from grabbing it, hauling him out of his slumber, and sucking him off until his balls are sore and he's begging to be permitted to wear a chastity belt.

"Which is horrible," Courtney notes, her fingers reaching down to stroke the base of the supervillain's plump, dark-haired nuts. "Except…"

Except that she can't just  _ not _ dominate him so hard that the gentlest, most sensuous caress of his testes makes him whine and flinch in his sleep on the one hand, but rut his hips forward to present his package for her use on the others. "And you won't be the only one I have to do this to-- or immortal or no, I will drain you completely, leaving nothing more than a battered husk, if that."

If she doesn't use her terrifying beauty, gorgeous strength, and incredible array of preternatural abilities to rape and torture Vandal Savage and others, the consequences are much, much worse than her pussy being grumpy with her. Nor simply that Courtney would feel unfulfilled and lonely.

She swallows heavily, corded neck rolling and pulling hard on her traps. Her back swells and bulges, and she can  _ feel _ the impossible strength in every last iota, pulling back at  _ her _ to begin the sexualized destruction of Vandal Savage… and anyone else who happens to catch her fancy.

"If I don't do you light… I will lose myself into that pull. Be drawn into the Hungers." She trembles, remembering how easy it was for the Hungers to present her  _ stepfather _ \-- and the men and women of the JSA, uncles and aunts and cousins of choice-- as appropriate rape-bait.

Shuddering, Courtney abruptly finds the hypnotic wobble of her enormous melons and plump ass less enticing; feels her pride in immense, chiseled muscles fail. "I would become an  _ indiscriminate  _ rape monster," she whispers, as her fingers gently dance and stroke around Van's balls until he falls back to his uneasy sleep, utterly enspelled by her.

Her survival instinct roars, and Courtney's surprised it doesn't echo from her thoughts to reality. "Then, if that doesn't solve the problem… I weaken. Then die."

All other options lead to that point.

So the moral value of Vandal Savage, comparatively, is barely a blip. And a brain that's already telling her the chemical composition of his sweat and what that means for his physical and emotional well-being… Feels like it's getting ready to split open on her fundamental questions.

Her belly flexes inwards, doing its imitation of that Arnie-style vacuum pose. It looked weird, seeing cut dudes and ladies push in past their ribs, and it feels weirder now. Especially with the sensation that she's only just finished having her first meal…

Ever.

She shakes her head out.  _ Forget all the time thinking about it that didn't come up with an answer I could accept. Start from assessment. _

Courtney puts a hand over her bitchin' new abs, and tries not to get distracted by how sweet they feel.  _ Step one: Vital needs met. I'm not bleeding, neither is he. We're both naked, but not in such a way that leaves us vulnerable to exposure. _

_ And I am fed. Boy oh boy. Am I ever fed. _

Something tickles her head. Or rather-- thousands of multitasking threads simultaneously answer the question, brought there through thousands of different tasks. She knows the truth now, but the truth has to push through an agonized consciousness while other threads are screaming at her to ignore the concept of empathy entirely.

That everything else must be forgotten for one thing:  _ Hunger _ .

Like a sugar crash while you're still starving, all the glut did was make her head rage worse. She focuses on what she can, for now. The other options lower beneath the surface, like talking and typing, sliding a finger over and getting a series of typos despite the information being available.

_ So on to step two: Threats. _ Her enhanced senses radiate beyond the limitations of humanity… but none of the far-distant kaiju are coming close for a  _ reason _ .

_ Pointless to even list, really; I have to manage what's likely to be the biggest threat in any given situation, don't I? _

No darkness behind the eyes. Courtney can see her brain from the inside. Her still-churning guts, her beating heart, the molecules and atoms that channel the terrifying, awe-inspiring power of a Hunter.

_ Biggest threat: Courtney Whitmore. _

_ Powers, yay. Distance from regular humans like, say, Pat and mom, boo. Three overwhelming new call 'em pseudo-hungers I have to gorge daily? Oh, shit! _

Oh, shit, indeed. Thinking about her Hungers makes Courtney think about what she must do to satisfy those urges. What she has already done.

"Ohhhhh fu-fu- _ fuuuuck, _ " she moans. Her clit  _ throbs _ .

_ Come on, Court! Logic-logic-logic. Anything but masturbating to the idea of feasting on human pain, come on! You're so close to working this out! _

But she knew it when she used Van like a punching bag sized for her pussy.  _ I was so Hungry! _ She bites her lip, hard enough to draw blood.

The memory flits into her vision.  _ The moment I woke up, crumpled in that damn circle… Oh, holy shit. _

_ I was so Hungry. _

_ But I'm not some lost, abandoned vampire spawn. I knew why I was hungry. I knew what I was Hungry for. I knew what my body was doing… within a breath of waking up. _

Three Hungers. Feed them, or go mad.  _ I can feel the sanity leaching away right now-- just waiting to feast on Van. _

_ I can feel it, I can feel the seconds of 'Courtney Whitmore' ticking down to 'wretched Hunter.' And then… Then I'll die, but only after killing my own soul. _

Her eyes go bright.  _ That's it! _ But even as she gets it, her instincts and her body hit back. Hard, with a headache so bad she's surprised her eyes aren't bleeding.

"Not  _ now _ ," she whispers. The pain of that first, most forceful hunger calls her. The same ferocious firing of nerves that wracked Van after she punched his stomach-- it reverberates through her.  _ I'm trying to keep it off, I'm trying! _

She shifts the press of her knees around into her ample tits. "Oooh," she purrs, ignoring how much her pussy and thighs scream at her to jam Van's head into her lap.

"All… you're getting for now, bod," she mumbles. A flex of her huge thighs thrusts her knees up against her fat melons and makes the rocky prominences of her quads squeeze and bulge into the same flesh.

So sensitive, tickling lightning-like crackles of pleasure all throughout their heft. Squishy, but dense; like the delicious electricity is a second support for the whole. And all  _ that _ seems to tie to and from nipple to nipple to brain to clit to nipple again, like invisible clamps and chains.

It's not painful anymore. Gone are the days of kickboxing when a boob hit made her see red. _ Nope, that's just not how the bod works any… anym… _

"Any mmmmooooore… oh yes!" she moans. Instead of pain, that  _ squeeze _ and rub of roundness into chiseled hardness gives her a constant, low-grade aura of sexual stimulation. Pleasuring her and making her hornier all at once, all the time.

_ But the squeezing still feeds, oh yes, it feeds... It doesn't satisfy, like when I was jerking off at Van and fucking with his mind. But oh, how it feeds! _

Another gasp escapes her lips as she adds more tightness to the muscle surrounding her rack. "S-see?" she groans at herself. "Don't… don't have to devour little Vanny!"

_ Except I do, _ she thinks. Not entirely miserably; nor, more importantly, as  _ painful _ as her prior self-discussion was.  _ This isn't satisfying the same. _

_ It's… it's like trying to get by with just stone soup. It'll work for a while… but it's going to leave me ravenous. There's got to be a better-- ooh. _

Her smile beams brighter than the absent sun.  _ It's experimental evidence, is what it is-- the headache went  _ down _ when I fed… Even a little, measly bit. _

No, not an entirely miserable thought, after all. The Hunger drives her, but the pleasure of her new body is making her drool and her breath heated. It does stave off the pain of starvation, as her thickly-muscled arms grind and squish her succulent breasts even more against her invulnerable thighs.

Jilling off may not be a meal for her new Drives, not a filling one, anyway; but it feels so  _ good… _ And now she can name her tool:  _ Feeding. _

_ Feeding the Hungers makes the headache go away. Feeding the Hungers makes the contempt dwindle. So-- does feeding the Hungers give me back my soul? _

Only one way to tell. Her fingers reach across the trembling of her abs. Down they reach. Down… down…

_ Fuck, I'm hot. _ She can see herself, and whatever else is regrettable about this new body, the way her muscles and curves come together get her wet.

_ Three meters of power packed from head to toe, more muscles in my left arm than Kal-El's whole body, and a better rack than Knockout, Mighty Endowed, and Power Girl put together? Yum. _

Her thighs spread. The rippling muscles are still tense, still bulging and squeezing over her titflesh and nipples alike. But they spread, and the cool air of the cavern meets the dampness of her arousal

_ At least I was never ashamed of masturbation. I'm not going to be now. _ Now, she throws herself into the experiment fully.

Now, it doesn't matter to her that she's crying for compassion lost and Van could wake up any time.

The oddest pride stiffens her.  _ Let him look at how beautiful my sweet clitty looks, stiff and tweaked lightly between forefinger and middle.  _ She squeezes the nub lightly with her right hand, manipulating it in little twists.

Her left comes around, and plunges fingers in deep to that moistness.  _ C'mon, Van, _ she dares him.  _ See how much my pussy  _ loves _ three fingers stretching out… uh. _

She grins, mid-pant, thrusting her fingers in and out of her cunt.  _ Guess he'd need both hands in full, but I'll let him slide a bit on that-- just watch, Van! _

Her fingers plunge in deeper and deeper, again and again. Accompanied by the rapid clitty-tweaking, her dampness becomes wetness. Wetness becomes a  _ flood. _

_ Watch my technique, Van! Watch and learn. It will be your life's work, after all. _

"F-fuck, I'm back to Courtney, Queen of the Facesitters," she moans, but it can't stop her now. Gasping shudders drive away her tears-- but not her thoughts.

She can see it all perfectly, despite the absolute wall of her chest and the dark squish of her cleavage, packed as tight as any grooved fold of muscle.

_ I can see everything! _ She can see within herself, see her core clenching lightly. That's what she enjoys, her fingers rubbing back against the press of belly-deep breaths and the slow march to orgasms.

_ It… it does make it easier to think! Yes! _ She grins over at Van's prone body. 

_ That's why it's gonna be your life's work. When my pussy's happy… I can control the rest. _

_ Control the Hungers! Control the contempt! Control my fucking life! _

_ Three Hungers. First, to fuck. _ Her clit throbs with that intense, mounting need, not satisfied for long by manual stimulation. The vision of Van's tongue replacing her fingers almost gets her to climax on that alone.

Almost.

_ Second, to torment.  _ The thought of closing her thighs around Van's head and squeezing until his screams accompany his tongue is delicious. Dangerous, but it gets her soaked, again, her pussy longing for cock to crush or a face to smother.

_ Third, the trickiest, to be challenged and hurt myself. Bashing my head into a rock would be no more 'filling' than mmmm, than what I'm getting now, but it might help clear the brain a bit. _

It's going to be hard finding too many other ways to get  _ that _ fed. She briefly sensed eighty-five other Hunters before her second Pulsing. All of them would struggle to satisfy the need for her pain, but…

_ Of all the odd things for him to be capable, Van managed that, at least. _ At least indeed; it was briefly done, if pathetic and only lightly filling. But it's more filling to the third Hunger than even her expert fingers now are to the first...

_ That's another good reason to keep Savage intact. Other than giving him  _ his _ lifetime's worth of humiliation for those stupid fucking quips! _ The cheerleader one alone has earned him a surprise for once she gets some fabric.

_ Okay, I've managed mmmm... _ Her cunt clenches around her fingers, gripping and pulling back at them.  _ I'm managing to get the Hungers down to grumpy shouting, and not howling screams, thankfully. _

_ I can recognize what I've been thinking all this while:  _ some _ self-indulgence, some, yes, horrible wickedness, some  _ rape _ is going to be necessary so that I can keep remembering that raping people is… bad. What was just evil... has become a  _ necessary  _ evil. _

Pleasure flares. Her heart beats faster. A sort of muscle-quake hits her, and she tosses her head back. "Yes… Yes!" she moans. "I need  _ more! _ More! So much more…"

She grins, licking her lips despite the need.  _ Plus if I work it right, I can make it easier to avoid the rest, too.  _ Being harsh now isn't exactly cool, but it will re-forge Van into a toy she's not going to instinctively want to break.

_ Honestly, it is like cooking. The more time I spend on him now, the more satisfying the real feast will be. By the time I'm ready to sit on his face, he should be so stewed in his own humiliation that his inadequate skills won't matter at all. _

_ And they would matter right now.  _ Her self-awareness is clear on that.  _ Right now? Well… _

_ If he gave me even so-so head I'd take his head clean off, and that would nooooot be a good start to Operation "give your Hungers a diet." _

So she takes her time. Even though the Drives are centimeters to maddening. Even though she's worried she has a double-dose of the triple Drives to go with her double Pulse.

_ Gonna let Van have a double-dose, too.  _ "Every day, yeah," she moans, shifting her immense but surprisingly supple muscles around and  _ flat-out fisting _ herself.

_ Maybe not quite so elaborate as that wake up job… _

_ Unless he begs right sweet. _

The memories sweeten the feel of her fist stretching her core out  _ so good. _ _ It was so fun! _ Just stumbling up to the circle in completely controlled erratic motions made Courtney's moans rumble louder and louder until they swallowed his every last noise.

She used every step and jiggle, getting off on herself as she pretended to weep.  _ Hey, I was right, too. He didn't have the juice. _

So wonderful-- and all along, she got re-familiarized with the lovely feel of hard biceps on soft titties once again.  _ Even my Al doesn't have the 'ceps now-- not even a shadow unless I force him up to building size-- but I can provide something for myself. _

Courtney pauses, flexes her left arm lightly. She's only mildly disappointed that she does not, in fact, have building-sized biceps. Even if they wouldn't fit, you know. The actual arms.

_ Well, maybe that's a tad hyperbolic, but even that big, he won't be able to provide the same strength! _

Throb goes her clit again.  _ Ooh, yes, we do like being stronger than everyone, don't we? Even our sweetie. _ The thought is almost better than the memory of her personal squeeze alone. 

"Yes I do, yes I DO!" She squeals, climaxing all over again.  _ Yep, that's it. _

Cumming over her own fist clears Courtney's mind.  _ I'm filling up now, and I'm definitely thinking less "puny human ants, must step on to get off. But I have to do more, just to fill up faster than I got hungry… than even just having him wriggle against Mount Tittyleft. _

_ Of course it couldn't be as simple as masturbation. That's what I need that Van can fulfill, most importantly. Fucking someone else, or fucking WITH someone else for the second Hunger, is so much more rich and potent. _

_ If I break his brain permanently… it will be even better. _

_ If a victim is filling, willing submission, willing surrender to me will be a feast. And then I won't have to fight so hard against the need to go Mistress Muscles on every adult non-relation I see. _

"Speaking of," Courtney giggles. Her half-squeal, half-snarl makes her victim jolt abruptly in his sleep-- but it doesn't wake him.

She's got quite the hooks in him, body, mind, and from that exclamation, soul.

Savage's teeny little "Oh, me, I'm an easy gainer body-builder" style muscles twitch and clench in instant, total fear response. He doesn't need to be awake for her to tug.

That's all he does, though, twitch and clench.  _ After all, I can't really call that flexing, now can I? _ \-- as he flops in his sleep. Useless.

Of course...  _ Even Al's-- Atom Smasher's gun show would barely qualify as a Nerf demo to my new girls. _

She's going to be challenged, it seems. Every time it appears like she's found a way to avoid turning into a complete jerkass, a monologuing villain… Some  _ new  _ hook in her soul shows up.

_ Albert. Al. Atom Smasher-- God, I just… I keep making your name smaller and smaller and it feels so right. _

_ Why does my memory have to keep coming back to you? I'd hurt you, baby… But I want you anyway. _

Since the moment Courtney woke up, indignant that the weak little male had managed to knock her out, her mind has been moving even faster than her body. She knew in the merest breaths of a heartbeat the risks of trying to break the circle.  _ All it took was remembering the briefings on magic at the JSA Brownstone. _

Every principle remembered or derived by her expanded mind, every bit as strong as her body-- or more-- told her the whole story.

She was able to track every aspect of Van's body and read all of his books in an instant, her vision only blocked by the unworked stone the idiot trapped them beneath. Multitasking supreme, and even more supreme speed of thought. She hadn't even fluttered her eyes before deciding to feign first sleep, then panic.  _ I was tricked and trapped repeatedly by Vandal Savage. _

_ Never again. He's mine now. Anything I want is mine. _

Parts of Courtney howl for her Albert once again, but they are few. She has much more self-control, save those terrible Hungers, than Savage. That, too is proper, for Savage's urges rise for her, and of her designs working upon him.

She knew the risks of trying to fight through the circle by force alone.  _ Hah! _ she thinks smugly.  _ Come, ye Dark Giants! Come and die! I don't fear even the Great Old Ones personally, not now. _

They will be interesting opponents when she meets them, not objects of terror. But slaves, like Van, and pets, like the herd of humanity might become, could be damaged, making it even harder for her to get her ocean motioned. In the moments, she'd also had to consider the humiliation if she  _ was  _ stopped by the circle when she went full-force.

_ No freaking way I was going to let him see  _ real _ weakness, the little jerk. But he was so easy to trick into the counterspell! He couldn't even remember what he was saying from gasp to gasp at all! _

She giggles, moving back to just three fingers at her sex for the moment. Well, three of her left fingers; her right hand moves to stroke and squeeze her arousal-puffy labia.  _ Van's so slow. Not just upstairs. _

_Of course, so is everyone else!_ Now, her memories of Jay Garrick are tainted with an awful amusement at how cute his speed now seems. _Cute and waddling, like an infant-- or Van._

The world is too slow, and Vandal Savage, here and now, seems to be the slowest of them all.

_ Unf. I have to be careful. Part of me wants to see if Wally West can be caught. The part of me that knows he'd make a much better vibrator than Savage. Barry might do for a slow, massage setting. _

The idea sparks realization. Her hands blur. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck," she chants.

While it doesn't fill her Hunger the same way she suspects the younger two Flashes could…

She climaxes again. "Shit, shit, shit!" she moans, her hands making lovely vibrators.

Both the three fingers now swirling around inside her clenching cunt, and the buzzing bounce of her right hand, rolling along her nether lips and teasing her clit.

_ Gonna be so much fun to get a speedster to do this, ooooh yes. _ Somewhat guiltily, she reminds herself,  _ Feeding now so you're not going to make them, right Court? You'll seduce 'em, real nice… _

_ I hope. Of course… I also have to find my way back to the surface, with a squirmy, tiny, slow male literally clinging to my hip. _

She moans, using the memory of said squirmy, tiny,  _ slow _ male to accompany the blur of her fingers. Courtney loves it, using superspeed to masturbate.  _ Feels kinda naughty, in a sweet way. But mmm, Van, you really are slow, and not just compared to this… _

Over her own pants, she giggles. She has to. It really was just so much fun!

She played him like a sextoy. Used his amateur magic to get herself off while feeding her other Hungers by terrifying him and swamping his mind. Used her newfound emotional and social mastery to manipulate him into stuttering out the very syllables which unkeyed the circle.

_ Van's so slow. So very, very slow. _ _ But he helps me feed… I have to feed… _

She bites a finger, licking the tip to enjoy the memory, tasting her climaxes on it.  _ I'm so sweet and he's so slow _ .  _ So deliciously slow... which meant that once I had the circle open and got the perfect opportunity... _

In his moment of hope amidst despair, just when he thought he had her-- then,  _ right _ then, she had her best orgasm yet crushing that hope into dust. That was then. This is now.

Now, she pleasures herself while she contemplates the ethics of being Hunter

_ But-- why does that bother me, then? _ In the endless eyeblink-moment afforded by her mind and speed, the question requires some soul-searching.  _ It's all fairly logical. I'm going to get hungry. _

Both hands are now flicking against her clit, surrounding it with the stimulations that by right should be the tongue of a well-trained lover. She inhales, her chest bouncing and bobbling along with the motion. "Mmm _ hmm _ !"

_ I'll make Van into one of those, oh yes. These drives make me so… Hungry? Make me drown? Ugh, no. Not like air, not like food. _

Courtney's well-loved tunnel gushes onto the concrete beneath her.  _ Mmm. Wet. Maybe... _

She revises one last time.  _ I'm going to get Thirsty. Frack, that still isn't right. I'm going to be Driven? Let's stick with Hungry, for now. _

It doesn't matter that she's using her hyper-senses to find just the most needy nerves, just the right spots along and within her sex, to better get herself off. That she's multitasking, flexing her thighs to squeeze and rub her super-sized, super-soft breasts, using both hands and stroking her tits together to boot.

She  _ still  _ has the mental time to revise, and to philosophize.

_ I'm going to get hungry. When I feed, I get stronger, and achieve more control. If I don't feed, I'll get to the point where I no longer  _ care _ about control. _

_ So, I pick a few someones who earn it, even if it's disproportionate, because that way I don't nab someone just because I want to. Ugh! Let's leave the ethics of the willing aside for now. An asterisk. _

_ … I thought super-intelligence was supposed to make thinking about things easier… At least I'm not wasting time! _

For her Van, he's taking his first slumbering breath since her last spoken word. Most of the heavy thinking was done before he took his first slumbering breath, period. Within that time, she began to mourn her humanity-- and plan her monstrous future.

She aligns thoughts and actions a bit tighter. Her fingers plunge in deeper, but slower. It lets her savor near-fullness while she re-familiarizes herself with her sex. Lets its joys fill her new body.

_ I'm going to get Hungry. I'm going to feed, for control and for strength, and, yes, because I enjoy it. The power I get, I will use a tithe of to make it easier to keep from turning snacks into snapped. _

_ It all makes sense! _

It does, and yet Courtney has no relief from her hatred for her new Hungers. She has seized the balance, and yet... _ Why does this still bother me? Just because I'm being honest about the fact that I'm going to hurt them because it makes me smile? _

She stops jilling herself off the nanosecond the answer forms, disgusted. Not with her current pleasure.

But with what horror she might become. Her palm slaps over her mouth, and her whole body spasms with a dry heave.

If she could vomit up the pleasure and pain she's feasted on, she would be doing so right now. Just from the conclusion of "why?"

_ Oh. _

_ Pat. _

As tempestuous as their relationship has been, she no longer wishes to destroy his marriage to her mother--  _ I haven't for years, especially since cute little Patricia came into the picture. _

She doesn't think of him as "the obstacle" any more. Nor just as the guy she dismissed as a sidekick; not just the half-annoying, half-reassuring presence beside her in the days of the Justice League Unlimited call-up.

Instead, in a way, Pat Dugan has become her father, and in such a way that her instincts still think is important.

_ Fuck. That first fight at the gym. Shit. _ The parallels whirl in her brain.

_ The whole night has been splashing my first "origin story"-- the Pulse being like number three if you count getting the Staff-- in my face, so why not the fading moment? _

She still remembers the man she now thinks of as a father asking her,  _ "Why are you doing this?" _

_ And then I answered, "Because wearing the belt ticked you off-- and that made me smile." _

It wasn't the  _ whole _ reason, of course.  _ Even looking through Pat's things was a stew of resentment, loneliness, alienation, and a myriad of other pain that no teenager could admit to her bio-dad, let alone the man I only saw as an intruder in her life. The one who tore me from almost everything I love. _

Telling him it hurt him and that made her happy was the only part of it she could say, because as a teenager, the thought of showing weakness to anyone, much less an adult, was horrifying.

So not Courtney's only reason. Much as it isn't now. It can't be.

_ Okay, Court. Round this one up. You've got a real super-gasm coming, if only you can get over the urge to wretch. _

_ On the good-- I'll be hurting some people, like Van, making myself smile-- because if I don't, I'll be a  _ much  _ worse terror. On the bad, it'll be much more than a smile I'll get from it. _

_ Satiation. Sensuality. Desire. Their pain itself is sustenance and pleasure both for me now. Forever _ .

_ And that's why I can't just let this rest.  _ Every time she thinks of that, some part of her remembers a robotic voice, and the frustrated red-haired head within the power armor. And is revolted.

It occurs to her:  _ God. It's a gift. Thank you, Pat. Thank you. _

A last inheritance from a legacy hero lifetime; a last gift from the man she's going to have to treat like spun glass forever more. _ If I ever feel like letting go, like having no more motivation than my own smile, my own satisfaction, I can remember a big, dumb 'ol robot suit, a roboticized voice… _

_ And my daddy, my  _ real  _ daddy within. There to back me up and protect me. Just like he will if I go that far. _

_ A last, desperate barrier against herself, should the need arise. The last gift of Pat Dugan. _

_ Still trying to tell me what to do, old man? _

There's a smile on her face that is as pure and clean as the one she got kicking henchling face.  _ And hey… at least there aren't braces in my future this time! _

_ This is how I do it. I feed where and how I must. I don't go too far with that; and I set the rules on what those are early.  _

_ I make promises, even to Vandal Savage. I can respect my family, even my family of choice; I can care for and even listen to others. _

_ Yes, it'll be like wrestling with a bunch of well-loved dogs, in a way-- muddy, messy, kind of fun. I can even bark at them to show willing, but in the end… I'm the boss. I make the decisions, and I do what I have to, to keep food in the food dishes. _

It's a bit grotesque, in a way, but it helps her to push  _ his _ smile away from her mind, and looks over at her Van. Her Hungers are growling.

"Time to wake up, little man," she whispers, and loves the way it makes him shudder-- makes him hard again. Slacking in his sleep was fine; she had no use for him then.  _ Aw, he's adorable.  _ The little jerks, his hand reaching out along the ground in placatory gesture…

His tongue, searching for his owner's muscle, yet again.  _ So sweet! _ Time to reward that sweetness.

Courtney turns her body towards him, spreading her thighs out. Her eyes close, letting her follow along more precisely. It's time to flex.

The huge muscles tense; her quads' banded buffness bulges, and the blonde of her mound is only partially hidden by her self-loving hands. One set of fingers trailing along the damp rim of her labia, stroking it with a hint of squeeze; the other moves a bit higher, coming in at an angle to meet her clit.

She doesn't have to search, and not just because of her perceptions. She's so stiff, her clit throbbing like it wants to be sucked on forever.  _ It's like a fucking finger-magnet. _

With a mild apology to her clit, she doesn't fulfill that desire. Still, by the way she gushes yet again, and the jolts of warm, exploding pleasure, her body is just fine with the dance of her forefinger on the hard little nub.

It makes for a great way to wait for the oh-so- _ weak _ Van to awaken to his life's duty..

Now, she has a use for him.  _ I made my choice, and it's time to act on that. _

_ I'm so horny, so hungry… and if I must be a monster, I can at least be a monster with _ discipline. Another vision makes her laugh softly amongst the gasps.  _ Oh yeah. Like that silly old poster Al had, of a prog metal band. _

A ruling dragon, great and terrible yet covering her queendom in gold. Devouring what she needs, so that fields of wheat can grow in the shadow of her wings.

Her huge abs roll and flex as her core clenches in sync with her finger's play over her clit. "Uh… um… Mmm!" It makes her tits bounce harder and harder against her thighs, squishy and sensitive, pressing their mass against striated hardness.

_ Yes, I am ribbed for my pleasure. And for my pet's punishment. I'm going to enjoy having him over my thighs, yes I will. _

This is the sacrifice of Vandal Savage, unwilling or no: by satisfying Courtney Whitmore's need to torment-- and later surviving her need to fuck-- he will feed her.

Feed her enough to preserve her soul.

No matter how brutal she is with him or her peers, she will be able to treat the majority of humans in her territory as treasured pets and flock, only to be abused when necessary and definitely to be defended from others!

She arches herself forward, licking her lips again as she moans, pinching her clit and tugging faster now. The view of her slut, hapless and forcing himself to obey in his slumber?  _ Fan-fucking tastic, Vanny boy. I'm going to do you real good for how sexy you look when I put ya out. _

A giggle or two finds its way into her moans again. "Of course, I was gonna do it like this, anyway."

He's jerking himself awake, unable to avoid the siren's call of her keening pleasure, and unable to disobey. Her self-pleasure grows with her own expertise, loving caress of puffy lips and plunging in between them towards satisfaction.

He might have wished to forgo the honor, but a man who has devoured his own descendants time and time again to survive and to grow strong should understand the requirements of necessity. Vandar Adg will never rule the world, but he can save part of it-- tongue first, yet still, as food.

There is only so much that any non-Hunter can do to satisfy one of these colossal women, incarnations of power and strength. In many ways, they are context. The Hunter's use of them is immensely more satisfying to the three drives than even the most skilled muscle-worshiper can provide.

Indeed, Courtney Whitmore is enjoying her memories of fucking with Vandal Savage's head much better than those of the inexpert fumblings of his tongue on her skin. He's not ready to worship her pussy yet, he's really not. But she can give him a preview.

_ Should I? _

She bites her lip. Fingers fly back to her sex. Guilt is gone, so gone so very far gone, and she is  _ so _ horny.

"Yes," she hisses, rolling out the s. "Wakey-w-mmm-- wakey-wakey little Van…" She groans again, her arousal soaking the floor beneath her.

Her eyes widen again as another shock of pleasure hits, her fingers stroking like the adoration of well-trained lovers. She keeps the following scream under control, tuned to a whisper-- she wants to enjoy her jilling time, not manage him, not yet.

There's no reason for her to control her wildly squirming, wildly sensuous hips. So she doesn't, rutting her sex all around while she strokes her engorged labia with the fingers on one hand, and on the other...

_ Fuck, he's so hot when he's helpless. The trimness of the beard helps, and shaking that lovely handhold-sized hair… mmm. _ Her lips are a little dry, parting in panting ohs, and she licks them as she tilts her head.

The motion tosses her hair around as the pleasure of both hands spreads through her in immense waves of immense muscles, spasming with the delight of it all-- and the work of both hands, indeed.

Her other hand is busy with her clit, running her thumb over it, just a bit of nail. She's become so sensitive in so many ways.

It's not just the Hungers; her sense of touch and vibration and pressure has been magnified so far that if it wasn't for her new filters, she'd probably climax from just walking. She certainly can  _ let  _ herself climax from just having, say, some wimp's tongue trying to learn how to please immovable muscles before feeling unstoppable force.

_ Hmm… No, he's not earned that yet. Let's go with plan A. _

Of course, she's not going to be keeping her enormous muscles at rest. She  _ likes  _ showing off, and giving him more work to do will give him more opportunities to learn. It's going to make her smile so much-- and that thought gives her a brief pause. Reminds her that she must have limits with even Vandal Savage

Pat's last gift. Who'd have thought it would be even more important than the Belt? Firmly, she puts the thought of him away from her mind.

It would just totally kill her clit-boner, and Courtney wouldn't want to disappoint Van.  _ Well, myself, mostly, but. He should want it, even if he doesn't know that yet. _

Closer and closer she rides to orgasm, and her thick scent fills the air.

It works him over, a crush subtler than her strength, but not by much. Even normal senses could pick it up, and Van is groaning with need in his still-hazy half-consciousness. His nostrils flare, his mouth parts in his quieter, little grunts, and his mouth and tongue search so frantically for her body she almost gives it to him.

_ So cute! But I like reminding him he's mine. Scent-mark the little bitch. _

So she does that, instead. When his eyes are about to open all the way, she zooms over. The wind gusts over his clothing, whipping his bare legs with his duster. His treacle-slow eyelids still are shifting around when she arrives, his shoulders centimeters from her feet.

Again, her arm lashes out at speed-- not that her well-beaten Van is trying to run!  _ Gotta give him that-- even rock-hard with fear arousal, even being growled to wakefulness, he's trying to obey. _

She grabs him anyway, flips him over onto his back so he can see the drenched pussy his body already knows he should be lavishing worship upon with his tongue.

But Courtney won't let him. Thrust, thrust, thrust go her left fingers; swirl, swirl, swirl go her right on her clitoris. Her calves alone are so much stronger than his whole body.

The trembles of pleasure rock through her, making her plump, perky ass wriggle faster… faster… shaking more of her arousal onto his hair, soaking him with the heady scent.

She pushes her huge calves further down onto his shoulders, ignoring his pointless struggles, as muscles honed from millennia of killing are pinched expertly.  _ He can't even move his upper arms! Score! _ She's timed it all pretty well, too.

Despite the shock of having his body slammed spine-first into the ground-- well, ass first, she twisted it a bit, flicking him to "spank" him with the concrete, but  _ then  _ his back, totally. His eyes open just as her panting cries turn to screams, her left hand coming up to her lips so she can suck her own sweetness from it.

The right whips around and behind, snug up against her rapidly bobbing tush. Two fingers up from beneath, pinning her lips wide so he can see the pink glory he exists to serve. And to better give him his wake-up present!

A benediction, just for him.  _ Hope he likes it! _

Then, as his first groan changes to panic at the feel of her tightening calves to either side of his ears-- not so close he can't hear-- she welcomes him to wakefulness. "Morning, loser!"

And Courtney cums, squirting all over his face from above.


	13. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having wakened Vandal Savage from unconsciousness with a squirting orgasm, Courtney Whitmore has decided he has a use in the new future.
> 
> In the changed Earth.
> 
> He's food. Or perhaps more properly, he's farmland. Made to be harvested again and again to feed her ever-gnawing Hungers.
> 
> She's going to be merciful-- of sorts.
> 
> He will survive-- as hers.
> 
> But first, Courtney Whitmore needs to remind him that he's not Vandal Savage anymore. He's just her Van. Her bitch. He may eventually be a pampered bitch...
> 
> But he will always belong to her, and of the many rules he has to learn, she's going to teach this:
> 
> For all the minutes, all the hours, all the days-- all the centuries, whatever she asks...
> 
> Van gives Star what she wants, when she wants it. No exceptions. No or.
> 
> He just will.

_ FUCK that's good! _ Eyes rolled back in her head, her cheeks bright with heat, Courtney Whitmore cums hard over the handsome face of her little slave. She's spent ever so much time preparing him; preparing this little show  _ for _ him.

Vandal Savage surrendered to her utterly-- named her the divine wellspring of his soul.  _ Now's his reward. Such a good little sweetie of… uh… a first cannibal, you are. _

She enjoys the feeling of power. Her feet squirm and dance against concrete behind her. Her huge glutes are tightening, pushing the softness from her asscheeks aside to show off the power there. Squeeze after squeeze shakes and bounces her butt, but that's hidden from Van for now.

Splatter after splatter of female ejaculate falls, marking his face and leaving stinging redness in her wake. Pain, mixed with her pleasured musk. One inhale, and his vacant face is drooling with pleasure far more than wincing helplessly from the pain-- and the shame.

_ Got my hooks deep in you, bitch _ . Though he seems to regenerate defiance like he does flesh, she has him between her killer thighs, and she intends to give him the benefit of her radiance.

Of her beauty; her power has already marked him thoroughly. She has plenty of both.

Since receiving two unexpected bursts of the transformative energy known as the Pulse, Courtney Whitmore has become a giant among giants, a muscle goddess rising literally head and shoulders above her savage peers. Hyper-intelligent, hyper-fast, and so strong that the world itself was changed to survive even their twitches, Hunters are immense beings, and yet more than half of the women thus changed would barely come up to said enormous shoulders.

Where other Hunters are hulking, Courtney is positively massive. Where their biceps peak, hers are himalyan, and her forearms no mere foothills!. A thick land-bridge of muscle runs from titanic deltoid to titanic deltoid, cording her neck formed by her incredible trapezius muscles, shaped further by deeper muscles and the pull of cable-thick connections. Even her teres minor has hit the major leagues.

Once, she admired Power Girl, her Justice Society of America compatriot, and Superman, Kara's cousin. What Kal would be to a man walking down the street, Hunters are to metahumanity. And what Kara is to the JSA, Courtney now is to the Hunters.

Not merely in strength; in general, in Hunters, strength and decadence are melded into unbounded potential. One and all, immensely curvaceous and deeply sensuous in both the overall form of their muscles and their bodies. From a tribe of women who make Power Girl look downright svelte, it's not just in her height and shoulder-breadth that make Courtney stand out in a crowd.

Power comes with a price, and beauty has a cost. If the gods would first turn mad those whom they intend to destroy, what is the membership fee in a kindred whom the gods cannot touch? And who's soul must be sold to take the VIP pass?

Courtney found her price. She will let herself be vicious. She will let herself rape. She will allow her Hungers a loose, but not free, rein. Only upon those who deserve it, or perhaps volunteer.

_ And who's that, whose eyes are about to be full of more rippling, massive quads than he's got mass period? And more importantly, gets to wake up to seeing  _ my _ beautiful pussy climaxing all over his face? _

Courtney really has a beautiful pussy. It's not just Hunter ego. The Pulse has made her gorgeous everywhere, and her deliciously messy bush crowns an absolutely ravishing sex. In turn, the wet pinkness of her lips as they transition to a darker flesh crowns a mound every bit as lush as the rest of her.

Exiting his daze, that's what Vandal Savage gets to stare at. What he  _ must _ stare at, as his vision resolves, as his optic nerve slowly translates blur into beauty. A succulent fatness promising hot, tight folds within, with a mouthwatering clitoris throbbing atop. Horny as she is, the clit hood is pushed back and every inch of her labia is soaked with femmecum. A river valley Eden, between the immense mountains.

She shakes her head around rapidly, fanning her hair out behind herself as she cries out a few more times. She has fingers pinning her pink open wider, exposing the lurid, deep wetness within-- and where she's been rapidly fingering her G-spot. The results soak around her fingers each time she adds a little more to Van's facial.

And she has every bit as much strength and control of her cunt as any other part of her body.

_ Well, perhaps not  _ control, _ control. I can squeeze how I want, but it's always so pushy and needy and horny now! No, wait, that's me. Anyway, yes… I think I can say that my squirt target definitely  _ deserves _ being my bitchboy fucktoy, yes. _

_ Because the little painslut between my calves? That would be Vandal Savage. Rude asshole extraordinaire. _

Courtney is still holding a grudge concerning certain personal remarks earlier in the evening. That, and being trapped beneath the earth. Vandal Savage sent them both down into the deeps, and attempted to enslave  _ her. _

A vicious part of Courtney finds it entirely fitting that she has his head between calves so vast and powerful that they're already  _ much  _ bigger than the head in question, and his very life hangs upon satisfying her.

Better yet, not only is her victim responsible for their plunge, he is a solid contender for the most foul and wicked being to ever stretch forth his hand to attempt world domination. He has been personally repugnant to her, attempted to enslave her, and that's not even counting his past. Crimes ranging from mass murder to mass mind control to rape with the sole purpose of creating more descendents so that he can  _ later eat them. _

Perhaps only the time-travelling fascist Per Degaton has used nearly as much time to do quite so many shitty things.

Vandal Savage has haunted the world for fifty thousand years. At his greatest, he has been an anti-villain, seeking to impose order over a chaotic world by brutal means. At his worst, the absolute worst; a cannibal who has tricked others into cannibalism with him; a rapist so foul and frequent it will take her a year or more of owning him and others to even start to catch up.

Her sex blesses him with the pain he deserves and pleasure that will enslave him to the same. He's a torturer, a mass-murderer and a very  _ precise  _ individual murderer-- a craftsmurderer, if you will. He has usurped governments and plunged aspirational movements into disaster.

In some ways, he is kin to the Hunters themselves. His immense lifespan and ability to return from not merely the brink of death, but death itself, again and again and again, have made him see the world as populated with mayfly infants, crawling over one another in utter chaos. When they seek sophistication, he sees only minute variance on age-old patterns. 

When they attempt to exercise power, he sees only the flailings of amateurs. Whether crime or deception, debauchery or innocent fun, Vandal Savage has not only done it first, he's done it in every conceivable way. Or so he says.

He has repeatedly bedevilled and bolixxed the heroes of the ages, often thwarted but never truly stopped. It was  _ his  _ manipulations that pushed the ancestors of the Hunters to create the Culling Cults. His untied loose ends that fostered a culture of horrifying, violent misandrism among even those Hunter traditions that do not have murderous intent. He has made empires, then crashed them down simply because they did not suit him-- or in pure pique. He has had the secrets to global peace and goodwill-- and used them only for his own ends.

The world would have been a better place had almost anyone at all been granted the powers and life of Vandal Savage-- but who would have failed to  _ become _ as he is, given his life and powers?

He has personally soured and corrupted at least some aspect of the lives of more or less every hero on the planet, from Courtney to her family to her closest friends to even just colleagues. He has brought legions of evil together; he has betrayed, he has ruined-- and yet he has also been an honorable if distant mentor and tutor.

Sometimes.

Courtney bites her lip, thinking of poor Grant Emerson. A regular hottie before his face got, erhem, Damaged, she wonders just how much fun it would be having  _ him _ between her thighs. Literally explosive with power, but also stronger and tougher the more he absorbed.

_ Oh well. He was overloaded to restart the big bang. Poor guy. But Van was good to him. _

She groans, squirming in place as she brings herself to another climax. All her pet can do is moan as she screams, "Nnnngghhh!" Moan, and be her painting in musk. Just like his soul will be her canvas-- already is.

The makings of something, something better than he has chosen to be, are within Vandal Savage. Courtney Whitmore-- the Hunter who will be called Star-- will forge an able assistant and devoted plaything from him. Someone who will rebel just enough to be satisfying yet compliant enough to be useful; someone who's own personal rottenness will match every cruel moment she  _ must _ inflict-- and revel in it.

So, as Van's horny groans swiftly change to near panic at the feel of her tightening calves to either side of his ears-- not so close he can't hear-- she welcomes him to wakefulness again. "C'mon, baby! Rise and pine!"

Again, Courtney cums, squirting all over his face from above.

She keeps her crouch in tight, right up against his skull. But she wants his world full of her, so she makes sure to flex her quads as much as she can-- of which she has plenty! Striations become so visible as to almost fill her skin with the bands, crushed in tight like so many battleships, ground to little steel grooves.

None of it threatens her slave.  _ I'm not going to kill him, _ she thinks happily as she admires her own muscular orgasm.  _ I might, if I'm not careful. _

He is so weak, after all.  _ Still, I have an idea about that, but I want to make Van earn it. That little penultimate constraint isn't necessary yet. _ Her body is completely under her command, even more than her undisciplined slave.

"Mmmmf, that's right, Van!" Courtney groans, climaxing all the harder for the thought. "You're my slave. My  _ stuff _ ." Her gasping, panting shudders cycle up in pitch.

And he  _ is _ her slave. Her stuff, indeed. She doesn't like breaking her own toys, after all.

Well, breaking the form. Van's gape-mouthed stare, looking far better suited to his handsome, chiseled features than his usual sneer of superiority, tells her she's doing quite well breaking down that regrettable ego of his.

_ But I have to be careful. I don't know how his renewed regeneration works yet-- will he come back in this body, or another? Will I have to hunt him down? Details matter. _

_ But really? Keeping him safe? It's not hard at all. _

Courtney has far more power over herself than even gnats like him.  _ Hell, I can control anything that can be distinct in the slightest-- even distinct subsections of individual deep, smooth muscles. _

Control over those is kind of weird, but she's got it!

_ Now, keeping two sets of tightly interlocked muscles apart, though they're designed by evolution to pull in sync? _

Van starts to shift, and body-shaking pleasure or not, she almost giggles. His well-beaten prick bobs back and forth as he thrashes, pretty in its brownish-pink. His hands are useless, flailing against her unyielding thighs.

_ Easy as cracking an egg on my skin and preserving the yolk-- or crushing a suit of kryptonian power armor and leaving the tasty treat within alive. _ _ Super-easy. _

"Unf,  _ fuck _ , feels so  _ good! _ " Courtney squeals, her ejaculation hitting hard again. Her whole cunny clenches and squeezes over where a dick  _ should _ be offered-- but she's not deigning to treat Van's cute twenty-five centimeters as worthy of that just yet.

It's kinda pitiful, after all. Ten inches is for  _ humans _ .

So she separates the rippling flex and squeezing shudders of her quads from her taut calves by sheer body-discipline. Both are enormous and ultra-detailed, but agile and under her command. Just like she can soften the tread of her footsteps not to splinter concrete or hardened battleplate when she walks.  _ Heh, I've got a couple more uses for that control, too. _

_ Pretty little fuckbois need pretty facials, after all! _

With her pussy lips pinned wide and her insane degree of muscular dexterity, it just takes a little flex here and there to make sure she  _ coats _ Van's face. "Yes, yes,  _ yes! _ " she crows in triumph.

Spine curving and rolling, bouncing her huge tits around as she squirms, she squeals again and again. Her orgasm intensifies, lasting all the longer for hearing him scream and gurgle as the splatter covers him from hair to chin.

_ Wimp. It's not getting in your eyes this time! Well, just the lids. And I guess my cumming is hard enough to sting ya. Must be like a rain of slaps. You fucking deserve it. _

Licking her lips, she trails her fingertip down to her tits, marking her path in honey mixed with saliva. At her destination, she, flicking her nipple back and forth. "Ahh!" Then a certain "hardness" not her own attracts a subthread of her attention, amusing Courtney no end.

_ Among other reasons, because that's not really hard compared to, say, my clit. _ _ And that's why I'm not being gentle with my squirting. I mean, why bother? Fucker's still getting even  _ stiffer _ down there! _

It's amazing what a dick can do, how blood can flow and flesh stretch.

When properly motivated, at least.  _ Showing off for me, honey? So cute! _

It's really quite amazing how much more length and ache a hard-on can find when the body attached is in the power of a far superior being.

"Fucking… wimp.." Courtney groans, still creaming. His mewling cries tickle her fancy further. She coos, "Can't even take a little femmejizz in the eyes, baby?"  _ Lucky, Van, lucky. _

_ I'll be nice, _ she thinks as Van mumbles and wails beneath her.  _ Not gonna punish you for closing those eyes like a bad little bitch. _

_ But you woke up with them open, seeing my pussy cum. _

They both know that having to force himself not to look at that divine wetness will be punishment enough.

She leaves him a few last jolts, squirting down across his face. Just to make sure his nose has enough drooling down onto it and he gets a nice "morning" drink too. "Mm. It's sweet you kept your mouth open, Van. Your tongue looks good like that."

"I need--" Van grunts, shuddering. Even humiliated, even waking up with and to the humiliation that will rule the rest of his existence, there's such ego to it. Like satisfying his desires matter.

_ Well, they're not a bad way to control him, I suppose. It can't rain pain all the time! _

"Tell me what you need," Courtney purrs. She's cum again, far harder than his prior struggles managed. There's a warmth to it, like a slick coating spreading out over the individual fibers of her muscles, long quads and tight abs to start.

It spreads, tingling on.  _ Fuck! I love this! I love feeling all that warmth, squeezing and lapping through my body like a  _ trained _ sub. _

The only thing that marrs the climactic relaxation is the quiet.  _ Right, a trained subby-- which I don't have… yet. _ "Tell me now,  _ Vanny _ ."

_ Just so he remembers it can always get worse. _ Van stares up at her sex in shock, his comparitively skinny shoulders jerking beneath her shins. To no avail in the least.

_ And it will, if I don't get my questions answered!  _ Courtney reaches down with both hands, pinching his nipples just lightly, her juices mixing together to stain his once-neat shirt as she gives him the lightest bit of torque.

Very light, as it happens. His voice is only a half-scream. "I need your pussy, please!" She's almost touched-- he knows how to say please.

Still. "No."

Van's disheartened wail is pretty nice, too. "Oh, quit it," she snorts.  _ At least he's a cute bitch _ .

She doesn't let him move, either, his body twitching and rolling as his male muscles make a feeble imitation of her feminine flex, trying to strain against her calves.  _ Nope. No getting yourself up here to paradise without my say-so, bub. _

It doesn't take long. Arms flapping at the elbows, useless, he sobs. "Buh... But… I…"

Courtney smirks, and reaches up to squeeze and tweak her own nubs. "No, the butt's  _ later _ . Gotta make sure you know how to oxygenate well first."

_ And by the time I'm done, if you ever get the willpower to scheme again? You'll be plotting only to find a way to worm your way between my thighs again. _

He tries to beg, but it disappoints her.  _ Just blubbering, really. Feh. _

Her mercy is rooted-- if firmly-- at his far limits, not this. " _ No _ , I said. You should have given me what I wanted, Van. I want you to remember, for all the centuries you serve me--"

_ And the daughters I'll pass you off to, but man, the sobbing's pretty pathetic already-- _

"Yes,  _ all _ the  _ centuries _ . Remember. Every day. Every hour. Every minute.  _ You give me what I tell you! _ "

"Yes, Courtney, please…"

" _ When _ I tell you!"

"As you command, Courtney,  _ please _ , I'll do--"

"Is this really the First Murderer? 'Cause you make my name sound like that other word you used…"

The blood rushing through Van's cum-covered cheeks drains away. Realization hits, and his eyes open all the wider.  _ Half of him is trying to worship me again. Half of him is terrified of how quickly I've made him  _ want _ to be low. _

Courtney's so glad she can see at all angles; the horror on his quimcum-covered face beautiful enough to get her super-chiseled glutes tightening, followed by a fresh wash of her female ejaculate all over.

"Fuck, Van," she moans. "I think I came like… ten times as hard as you. Twenty? Shit, are we sure I left your dick attached?

Van's hands fall, limp as his dick is hard. His fingers twitch, and his hips gyrate, like he's trying to make sure. Like anything she even implies could be real.

_ Mmm. That's a choice bit of humiliated defeat, right there, _ she thinks as her captive starts to sob even worse than her earlier pretense. Her sadism-Hunger is gorging, just like she planned.

_ Damn, Van. I even  _ cried _ more than you when I was faking. Fuck, even after jilling it all the way, you feed me. Good bitch, that's a go-o-o-od bitch. _

Even if Van's trying not to be so good. "I… Courtney…" The hapless babble is starting to get boring.  _ I guess I'm going to have to let him recover, some. _

She wrinkles her nose and growls. "Enough. Shut it. If you can't spit it out, keep quiet for a moment." He goes limp again, his body splayed and displayed for her viewing pleasure.

Courtney smiles. Just a bit. "Fuck, Van, you want me to be less mean to l'il old you? Then lie there until you're called for."

She reaches down, pats Van's chest. Doesn't even rake it. "That's it," she coos. "Just look pretty."

She punishes him with gentleness, with a massaging, possessive caress that makes him shudder. Weak, trembling motions that hardly move him at all. Except to push himself up.

Like a dog getting a pat.

Courtney looks him over one more time. "That, at least, I'll admit, you can do." She brings both hands back up to her breasts, squeezing her nipples harder and harder. "Look pretty, I mean. Keep the sneer off your face and I might even forgive you for trying to refuse me before."

Moving to her feet, she pulls her huge calves, so much bigger than his head, away from his poor skull.

"But-- please," he whispers, the sob still in his voice.  _ Aw, poor nothing. It's not even crushed. It's barely broken! _

Van's hand reaches out to her, trembling, then flinches away as she touches him from afar. "Please!" he repeats, insistent and scratchier in tone.

Ignoring his desperation, she pulls one bare foot across his body, sweeping it from his naked legs, her toe leaving a line like her fingernails over his thigh, and only a little lighter on his balls. As the red spreads, not bleeding, just pain, his words trail off into choked cries of pain.

_ Oh, the whining. You'd think he'd handle it better when he's battered, given how fast he was coming up from a Cosmic Staff blast. No stamina, this toy. _

_ I was merciful, even-- gave a little extra push at the root to stop him from cumming when I scraped his nuts. _ Courtney sniffs, shaking her head, but she doesn't clue him in yet. _ How long is he going to take to get his head back into my game? _

She stands, tall and proud, heels just a finger length from his soaked scalp. She stretches her power-packed arms out to either side, fingers curled into fists as she shakes her shoulders back and forth. Her casual stretch shows limitless, fractal muscular bloom over her wretched captive.

Who remains, of a sort, wretched. Trembling beneath her, Van can twitch. That's it-- and only barely-- now. "That's it," she says, deep voice rumbling smoothly over him, the sweet tones relaxing him despite his fear. "That's it. Rest."

Courtney's voice rolls on, draining tension from his limbs and pinning him to the floor just as easily as her toe might. "Rest," she repeats. "You need your 'strength,' honey. I need to… Mm. I have needs, Van. I told you. Those aren't finished."

She licks her lips again, a swirl from one corner to the next in a zip, then chews on her fingertip. His struggles draw her attention, weak as they are. Her eyes narrow.

As he fights the exhaustion, he reaches up to try to stop the slow trickles of her slickness. She's insulted a bit; that's her gift to him!

But she does want Van to rest for a few moments. To let his regenerative capacity prepare him to be a meal again. Without turning, she warns. "Don't wipe my gush off." Her voice is sharp, demanding, but not too loud.

"Maybe from your eyes, but not off of you-- you get a  _ hint  _ of me on your fingers, you suck on the tips. I like the way you look, covered in me." Courtney moans, pushing herself forward onto the balls of her feet. "You smell even better, too. Afraid, horny, and marked as mine."

The thought gives her a little chuckle, little, but long enough to get her ass shaking along. "Maybe when I'm teaching you to worship pussy, I should make you keep some just for that use. Not let that greedy tongue drink so deep."

Her chin tilts as she looks back at Van over her shoulder. Hair slowly snaking over rugged shoulder and cushiony breasts, she turns her head just so. He can see better in the dark than a modern human could, but not enough.

She makes sure to catch a bit of the dim violet light with her eyes, to give him a flash of blue strength in the weak light. "We'll have you collect it," she explains, the clench of her toes digging deep into the concrete all of a sudden.

"Put a perfume on you. Maybe if you smell like me, I won't have to beat off so many big muscle bitches from ya. Word's gonna get around of how much of a beating you can take."

Her words drive goosebumps all across him, exposed or beneath.

She twists her right arm around, planting her palm on her ass and squeezing her fingertips into the perky plushness as her tricep tightens up, immense prominences bulging out along the length of her upper arm. "I'm going to make sure of it," she hisses.


	14. A truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Van knows. Once named Vandal Savage-- and still sometimes believing it belongs to him-- he has been very thoroughly tamed.
> 
> What Courtney wants, she gets.
> 
> The problem is... What Courtney really wants is to reach a stable equilibrium between enjoying the fruits of sex and pain, and not becoming a witless beast, vast mind empty of all save the next conquest and past glories.
> 
> It's harder than it looks, for a Hunter.
> 
> Meanwhile, Van hasn't exactly mastered step one of being a muscle-loving painslut. That is to say, he is a muscle-loving painslut, since Courtney made him that way. It wasn't hard. He is a muscle-loving painslut, but he's not very good at it.
> 
> Yet.
> 
> Courtney will help him.

Courtney turns her head back around, waiting for his breathing to become a little more even, his shuddering to become mere quivers. Idly, she flexes further, concentrating on her core, on her back.

Traps tighten, lats bulge, and everything all around them, her Hungers unfulfilled by the motion, but there's a sort of joyful tightness that spreads as her back tightens up. "Oh, don't worry," she says, pausing long enough for Vandal Savage's shuddering body to relax before prodding him again.

Not physically. But--  _ I'm so HUNGRY again. Already!  _ Her teeth grit hard, out of his sight.

_ I can gorge, but I've got this bottomless range to fill up on. Like I'm having to make up for a lifetime of not being a sadist, and if I don't get in a  _ little _ brainball, I'm going to start going right for his actual balls. Despite how low his regeneration stamina is right now. _

She just can't help adding, "I'll just have to make you earn your Courtney-quim showering. Every morning, maybe. Five o'clock sound good? Yeah."

Her thick musculature stands in perfect, symmetric framing, the fractal pattern of support muscles and striated bands making her back at once gorgeous and an obvious contour map of her deadly power. Not that Van can see it-- his eyes are stuck staring up at her still-dripping cunny and her still-bouncing bubble butt.  _ As well they should be. Too bad he's almost stopped crying. _

_ Or is it?  _ She frowns, glad he can't see it.  _ That sounds like a 'too much' warning to me. _

_ Okay, _ she tells herself, running the scenario down in her mind, in the time between the halves of a heartbeat _. Got him back up. How badly do I still need to beat him? _

After a swift moment's elongated thought, Courtney idly adds,  _ Oh-- and how much more can he take? He's actually upticking, about to go back to crying a bit, and not just from the stinging. _

Her ethical calculations mix with logistical. Not just in how she feeds, but in how she can keep her bitchboy available to be fed upon. The decision is swift, and clear.

_ Let's go slow. Afraid is tasty; breaking down every five seconds is useless for me. _ She's right; it will also help for her to learn better habits of extreme dominance. To balance the demands of her drives and her desire to be an even partially benevolent tyrant to most.

Such pain is for her chosen victim: the First Cannibal, but Van, too, must have enough life to serve. "Mmm," she hums at him. "Your tears are so sweet, Vanny."

_ If not quite so sweet as I'd like. I'm going to get it  _ real _ tasty for both of us, wimp. Get ready for a far, far stronger flavor. _ But otherwise, she lets him rest.

Time passes; achingly slow and painstakingly measured for her, whirling and wild for him. Then, she says softly, "Van." The name alone is a command, and his whole body begins to tense, eager to obey.

"Up. On your knees." Courtney resists the urge to remind him he didn't live up to her commands; it did give her time to think.

And the slowly falling tears do help, even as they vanish.  _ If nothing else, every little twinkling Van teardrop looks so good it feels like I've got extra fingers, so I can stroke one over my inner thighs.  _ The tight, sensitive muscle-bands quiver as his last teardrops fall, just like that.

Van rolls over to stand. The last of his delish tears fall, and are joined by a gush from her sex. Pleased, she lets him go through the motions, not turning, just to see what he'll do

Her Van is, in part, still Vandal Savage. She will be working on that for months, maybe years. The very first sentence after she came on his face had  _ tone _ that resembled that sneer of his from before the Pulse.

There's a lot to train him out of. But already, when she's turned away-- the manacles are already set in his mind.

Because he doesn't stand. He just follows orders. Doesn't even weasel.

All he does is get to his knees, opening his jaw as if to speak and does nothing. Her juices drip over his skin, from his squirt-slicked hair, down the sides of his head, even a bit down the back of his neck. Over his angular, yet broad features; dripping onto his lips.

_ The common ancestor of every ethnicity and every nation on the planet, _ she reminds herself.  _ And he's covered in my pussy jizz.  _ She can't remain silent, and lets out a long, groaning sigh of "Mmm, that's  _ nice! _ "

That's the only other stimulus that moves him. His tongue comes up involuntarily each time a new rivulet of her female ejaculation touches his lips, and he can't help himself from licking it in, shuddering. Nothing else. Not even an attempt to run.

She's discomfited-- briefly-- by how good that feels. To have someone so enraptured by her power--

_ By my ass, specifically. If we just count what he's drooling at--  _

That he is unable to act in self-preservation or even act.  _ And it makes my grumpy sadism-tummy rumble so much I don't get how he can't hear it, immaterial or not. But no-- I made my choice. _ Now only if her body believed that...

Her head throbs with the inner war, but she lets none of it show to Van. It's pretty major pain for  _ her _ brain now. The dissonance between her essential Courtney-ness, which she refuses to give up, and the three horrible Drives pumping through her, is almost worse than the Drives themselves. Especially now that they have, thankfully, ebbed thanks to her own headache, but surprisingly more from Van's half-assed, wimpy little imitation of a violet wand.

_ Lashes of the Furies, indeed. Jerk. I haven't faked it so much that since getting out of high school. Well-- I never faked  _ pain _ before, but it's honestly the same thing-- every guy thinks he's a god some way or another, and the only one who could back it up was my Atom Smasher sweetie. _

An intense desire for honesty, even with herself, rushes into her.  _ Well, okay, Billy had the  _ powers _ of a god. Several gods, actually. _

_ Hmm. I wish… _ Plans formulate.  _ Look, I can't just screw bad guys. _

_ That way lies costume changes, and that really didn't work out well for Mary Marvel, did it? So maybe when I'm better fed, I could make a rescue plan. I refuse to believe he's dead. _

_ So, if I'm lucky… I could say hi to Billy-- and Mary too, for that matter. _

It really is helping, devouring Van's pain and her own. Her mind is so much clearer. Forget her tutor in calculus-- she's already inventing new math, to try to pierce the dimensional barrier--  _ No. _

She grins.  _ It's just as well Van can't see through my body like me. It'd be bad for his heart. _

It's just as well Captain Marvel can't, either, for much the same reasons.

She shrugs her shoulders. The powerful rolling squeezes and expansion of muscle across her back accidentally hypnotizes Van further, and he almost falls over.  _ Eh. I don't need to rush to snatch up Cap and his crew. _

_ I've got time. It's going to have to be the stronger ones I fuck, and maybe that Wisdom of Solomon will bring him to the same conclusions. _ She tries not to wonder about what it means if that Wisdom disagrees.

_ He could help me, Captain Marvel could. The Wizard lasted millennia, he said. When I'm better fed, I'll have so much time. So many men to break in, so many women to tame. _

She stifles her own wicked laugh, reminding herself not to monologue or monolaugh out loud.  _ Maybe I'll be able to leave a few unbroken. Mostly. _

_ Please. _

A small, tiny part of Courtney still weeps for lost innocence as much as the larger part of her wists to have a now-adult Billy Batson turn into Captain Marvel for her, trapped between her thighs.

_ Oh, fuck, that's a nice picture. That cute chin wagging as he tries to breathe, my thighs getting tighter around him, his hands massaging my muscles, knowing he can't get away-- he's got to be tougher than the Rude First Wimp Murderer. _

_ Why, the good Captain might even be able to survive a good scissoring for a few seconds.  _ She licks the air, as though she could already taste ravishing her old friend.

_ Gently! Gently ravishing! Not full strength, but maybe some actual, wrestley-type fun. Certainly, he'd be more fun to pounce. _

_ Gently; oh please. _

_ Gently. _

She lets Van stew in silence, kneeling, his lungs burning with the constant scent of her quim's ejaculate She's got other plans on her mind.

So much more she can do with-- and to-- the tough ones. Far more than the inconceivably gentle tickling she's given her current plaything. And even the tiny part agrees…  _ I have GOT to get some better quality toys. And less poisonous pillow talk. _

_ Right now… Right now, I'm basically fucking myself. _ Her sex shudders lightly, her clit stiffening even harder than her toy's dick twofold.  _ Van is barely a prop. _ _ Well, he's got a certain resiliency of the ego that's going to be fun to squish… Has been! _

Courtney ignores the present for the triumphs of the past. Her humbled slut is left to wonder whether he hasn't completed his task, shifting on his knees and making little mewling, questioning sounds.

Even the light, tingly after-climax rumbles are so superior to the efforts of Van, which is appropriate. She was the one directing those triumphs.

_ That, and you haven't let him touch you. C'mon, Courtney. If we're going to monologue, let's keep it to a little less cray-cray monologuing. _

Courtney's hands stroke beneath her immense breasts.  _ Better yet, let's focus. This, too, is meditation. _

Not too far down for her hands, not yet, and so close the grooving definition of her arms squeezes and kisses her vast knockers from either side. But her hands stay over her stomach. Moving in slow, curving motions that make the countless projected prominences of her biceps and triceps rise and fall.

Her head aches again, as she tries to think of what this looks like to Van. All that can be seen from behind is the continuous tug of muscle on muscle, pulling at the banded web of muscles most prominently across her back. A little extra motion in the triceps-- and a  _ lot _ of her pussy's clenching delight spreads to little squeezes and not-so-little wobbles of her teardrop-shaped, perpetually perky ass.  _ Heh. Is he drooling over my butt more, or my vulva? _

Her ass, as it happens. That's more than enough. He's looking for any sign of approval, any possible consistency he can grab hold of.  _ Metaphorically speaking. He may be locked into watching my ass squeeze and bounce, but he isn't even trying to touch. Oh, wait. _

Courtney's bobbing, wriggling, jiggling-- casually twerking, somehow-- butt, beautiful in its bubble-squish shape, accidentally hypnotizes the still-stunned Van.

_ Mostly. He's not quite in trance, just floating towards it. _

_ I'm pretty proud of my butt. It's a nice upgrade. _

Slowly, Courtney turns to face him. The rippling effect of the near-dark purple light is less supplemented by the LED's blue below her waist, and it makes her look like she's wearing a veil-thin swath of amethysts over her top-- save for the still-bright blue of her eyes. Save for that, the gentle fierceness in blue, it's like millions of tiny facets dripped in chains over every chiseled centimeter.

The slow scrape of her feet as she turns echoes in the dark cavern.

Her head towers above him; nearly twice his height. Her mask is darkness, to match the pheromone and flavor-thick fluid still translucently reflecting on his dark chocolate skin. He is quivering now, his own instincts still enough like a predator's to  _ want _ to run when a superior example of the breed stares at him. He is marked in her scent, though, by her climax. It will remind him he is at most a scavenger-- that he is actually prey, and she has him utterly.

"Hello, Van," Courtney says, and he gasps. She can see the direction of his attention in his pupils, and it makes the slash of her smile widen and widen. He's literally tracking her muscles.

His eyes are pulled along the curves of definition and striation, lost in those endless hard grooves. Even where her gigantic breasts block his sight from above his head, he's lost in curves. Every rippling jiggle of the obscenely fat and extremely perky rack is another route to swallow him with.

"C… Courtney," he replies in a whisper. "I am…" He chokes off the I business, and she smiles at him again.

Van hangs his head low. "You called, Courtney." Shame burns his eyes with tears.

His teeth grit, and some of the old smoothness finds a way through. "You have Van.. Vandal Savage, at your whim."

She almost lets it pass.  _ I do like the way his voice sounds, even when he's not screaming. But, start as I mean to go on! _

"Van."

"Please."

" _ Van. _ " The intensity in her voice is a whip. "I don't like repeating myself."

Van, even in his own head, sobs, and hangs his head. "As you say, Courtney. I am Van." Shoulders that were broad among even the Cro-Magnon square, setting him on the task.

His own task-- surviving the attentions of a woman whose shoulders make his seem so narrow and cramped they'd barely work for a cat's forelegs. His task for  _ her _ \-- and there he is, trying to prepare himself to do it his way.

Honestly, Courtney isn't even impatient or angry with it.  _ There it is, my tasty treat! _ _ There's that regenerating self-importance. _

She knows it's going to be a long process.  _ Like re-breaking a bone set improperly, I'm just going to have to keep crushing his self-image until it heals into the shape I've set for it. _

Forever. Courtney groans, her huge thighs shifting and squeezing as he stares at her in wonder.

_ This is another one of those painful mercies, _ she thinks, keeping the sadness from her smile.  _ If I don't break him of bad habits, one or both of us is going to make a mistake. _

_ I'm not going to tolerate too much disrespect from him, and I can't ever forget that he can hurt the people I do care about. And… well. _ The thought isn't too bad, to be honest.

She shrugs, mentally.  _ Can't keep a pet, even in the whips'n'chains'n'collars sense, without starting to care for him, can I? Even a biter, mister First Cannibal. Time for your training, Van. _

Simply for her own amusement, she inhales lightly. Van gasps, involuntarily again. She reminds him of his status as prey in body language so loud it's shouting.

A simple move; scenting him on the air so obviously, and then the same eye-catching and brain-fogging wobble of her turn is sent into another long set of jiggling bounces.  _ It's so cute the way he stares. Like a rabbit, looking up at a particularly sexy bear. _

As is his purpose, it gets her wet again. Little rivulets of liquid pleasure begin to trace the symmetric, fractal patterns of sculpted power on her quads, drooling towards her knees or directly dripping to the earth. His jaw drops, and he begins to shake with awe.

"Never seen a big woman before, Van?" Courtney purrs. "I'd have thought you'd have met a few over the centuries."

Her perceptions perk.  _ How unique-- I'm wrong.  _ She smiles, but it's hungry again. She can see the traces in him.

His body is still flooded with hormones from his earlier orgasm. Having her femmecum all over his face is keeping him hard, keeping those endorphins flowing. Soaking his mind in submission to her, again and again.

"A… A few. None that were-- none that were really like you.  _ Are  _ there any like you?" Van asks, as much bitterness as wonder in his voice. To her further amusement, when she furrows her brow, he twists his head to the side, tilting it back and away. Baring his throat.

"Mm." She considers the answer. It's more complicated, and for some reason, she really doesn't like lying. Even to Van.  _ Odd _ .

Even the mind of a Hunter can be challenged-- especially if it's the one making the challenges, too. She wants to think, but she doesn't want to "wait" in the eternal moment of her fastest multitasking.

So Courtney orders an end to half-nakedness. It was irritating her, anyway. "Clothes off, over the little ledge there."

She orders, and he obeys, blinking with confusion. Not to mention a little bit of delicious humiliation. A little extra spice…

He pulls off his clothes quickly, and then follows her direction with a sigh, hanging the edge of his shirt collar over the stone to which she directed him. Just another bit of personalized humiliation.

It is, of course, the same stone he slammed his head into repeatedly.  _ Well, because I made him, but still. _

She appreciates the view of Van. It's the best, oh yes; obedient, still shaking a bit with unconscious pomposity denied.  _ Taking him apart like this, bit by bit… _

Van flinches away as she runs her tongue over her teeth, then her lips. "Yeah," she moans at him. "Keep that up."

Every bit of crushed ego has the same effect-- literally-- as her fingers back on her sex. She can feel exactly what part of her clit and lips respond to which bits of sluttiness she grinds into him.

It's been that way since she woke up. Every time Courtney squeezes a yelp out of his flimsy body, it's like a tug of her clit, held between thumb and fingertip.  _ It's a slow meal, but closer to the feast I really deserve. And, well. _

The part of her-- it's not big-- that doesn't want to humiliate him  _ all _ the time will admit he's decently handsome… for a man half her height and much less than that in terms of size. "Good," she purrs slowly, making a circular motion with two sharp fingernails. "Twirl around."

It makes Van grit his teeth again. The clenched jaw spreads, shoulders squaring as though he was about to shove back against the tide of history again. It's kinda cute, kind of irritating, so she tolerates it.

Especially since he does spin about on his heels obediently. She kisses the two fingertips, and flicks in his direction. "Nice moves, pretty man."

_ The real reason for the movement, that. It doesn't make any more of a view available to me, though  _ unf _ the way his little butt clenches as he moves does appeal _ . As does the bounce of his still erect dick, covered in his own cum and stiffer than ever.

_ But it tells me how much I need to do to shove his cranky little head back under and into subspace. _ Still mystifying him, she nods repeatedly, eyes lidded as she tilts her head left and groans again.

_ I'm going to enjoy this. Will his tongue be even half so nice? _ It doesn't exactly get her drenched…

But the tasty humiliation and submission sends little electric bolts pulsing out from deep within, crackling over the muscle-laden might of her legs and following her abs' shredded pattern.

_ I want more. I want more! _ "Look at me, Van," Courtney demands.

Slowly, he does, and she reaches down to take his still-drenched chin, tilting it upwards. Her gaze meets his; brown eyes tremble as he tries to force himself to meet her will. Definitely enjoyable; if he was close to the edge of thinking like a person, he'd be shuddering to get away. 

This kind of force, not so much to do her will as to make an act of obedient defiance, tells her so much.

_ Just like the fact that the fear is making his little balls swell tells me he's already enjoying being mine. Good. _

Like a snake, she strikes. Far too fast to follow for even a mystic-trained martial artist, such as he revealed himself to be. One moment she's holding him at the extension of her long arm, passively massive bicep rubbing its curving, banded hardness into her left tit. The next, she's just in front of him.

There's a loud  _ slap-slap _ , almost a single whapping noise, as her huge titties whack into his front, making him yelp. "Oh,  _ yeah, _ " she groans as her chest suddenly is stimulated all over.

That pleasured pressure in turn makes her moister, gets another hungry groan from her corded throat.  _ You're never so pretty as when you're turning me on, baby.  _ The near-punching force of her nips helps with both the yelp and the juicing. The fist-sized nubs pound against his far-weaker chest, bruising his pathetic pecs, 

Van doesn't have time to decide between wail and gasp, his chin still caught in her grasp-- and her pointer finger's sharp, short nail at his jugular. It's not even as big as the veins on the muscle just behind her ear, one of the smallest in the body. She loves his tinyness, especially when she remembers how much he loomed over her.

Not just tonight. For much of her heroing career. Vandal Savage had been stalking legacies, like herself, for a very long time, after all. She had been warned. Just like her Pulse, her legacy was a double.

"Regarding your question, little man…" Courtney growls, feeling the rise of her hungers right from her clit. As the nub throbs and Van squirms, she wriggles her fat-padded hips more and more.

She's close, she realizes. Just feeling him like this has gotten her close to climaxing again. Musclebound legs squirm too, just to show him how it's done. Banded power bulges, quads dancing in time with her own horny thoughts.

_ Man, I think even my  _ calves _ are bigger than his biceps and triceps put together. _ They feel great, too, squeezing and releasing as she shifts from foot to foot.

Looming above poor, tiny Vandal Savage.  _ My Van. _

It's fun; her squirming and his, compared. He's squirming because she has him, and he's starting to realize how tight the walls of her trap. She's squirming and swaying, the motion traveling all the way up her traps and out to her deltoids in synchronous delight.

She'd be snapping her fingers if that wouldn't cause some pretty significant problems for the immediate future enjoyment.

Van can't recognize it from his perspective, of course.  _ Oh, Van, _ she thinks, indulgent smile in her mind alone.

_ I'm dancing over you, baby. Nice and slow. All because of just how fast your heart beats against my nail here. _

_ You deserve it, bitch. _ .

He loomed over her young life. Reborn in the Pulse, she overshadows him tenfold. When she's standing, he's barely taller than her legs, and his whole weight of musculature is nowhere near as well-developed as just one of her long limbs' combination of curves and bulges.

Even with Courtney crouched like this, if he knelt, he could hide behind her thigh.

She'll make him kneel in time. Again, and again. For now, the growl has crushed his squirms, leaving him paralyzed again.

It was a good question, though. "Are there any like me?" she asks with a chuckle.

"As far as you're concerned, Van, there's just me," she whispers to him, slowly tightening her grip on his neck.

And in so many ways, even after they meet other Hunters…

It's true. It will always be true.


	15. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney Whitmore's orgasmic fluids are delicious, and she enjoys lapping them off his face while tormenting his cock. No matter how much he begs for release from a handjob better than the most talented lover's entire body or at least to be released to cum, she just tastes herself on him and enjoys his utter humiliation. That's what he's for, after all.
> 
> Literally.
> 
> She is placing the whips of her will, of her strength, into his mind. Into his soul. In part to shape him into a better slave, but in the larger part, so that she can feast on his sex and his pain again and again. Just so she can be a better queen to everyone else sheltering beneath the power of her gigantic muscles.
> 
> It's also fun. Especially when the rude little bitch thinks there's something he can't that she tells him to do. There is no can't.
> 
> Only her will.
> 
> Terrified that so much as touching her despite her order to hold on will result in punishment, she gives him two choices:
> 
> Rub her body, or attack her.
> 
> Neither will result in death, but one at least might result in less pain. She isn't going to kill him, after all...
> 
> Not until she's taught him which home to come to when he's reborn.

Courtney loves it. Just trying to tease Vandal Savage reacted to being made her humiliated little muscle-slut, she asked him if he'd been taken by women like her before.

In his delicious bitterness, he asked, "Are there any like you?" In between forcing himself not to cum, and constantly coating her jerking hand in pre.

_ I like keeping him busy. _

And busy he remains. Despite the periodic corrective squeezes of the drippy little toy-tool.  _ Now that I've made my point, who am I to refuse a good opening line? _

"As far as you're concerned, Van, there's just me," she whispers to him, letting him watch her mouth move up close. She inhales slowly, deliberately, through the nose; breathing out and over him, ruffling his hirsute body with her mouth's little puffs.

Slowly, she leans over, opening her lips wide, savoring the jolts of panic in him.

Courtney's so close that when she licks her lips, it flicks a taste of her pussy juice from his forehead. "Mmm," she groans. "I'm delicious, aren't I?"

_ Of course, so is your panic. And that's your purpose-- to pleasure me. To feed me. _

She twists her torso as the ecstasy pulses through her body. A groan sends her huge melons whapping him again. Even before the heavy pillows strike, Van's whole body jerks, while his arms return to flailing.

It all flings him around in Courtney's grasp-- but he obeys what he thinks she'd command.  _ So cute! _ Trying to stay away from unpermitted touching while the terror makes him want to interpose anything between them.

_ I still have to train him to  _ understand  _ my wishes, but it's nice he's learning to try to anticipate, on his own. _ She gets nice and close, her breath hotter and hotter over him, the moaning puffs blowing over his damp face like wind over a lake. Little ripples spreading her femmecum over his dark skin anew.

Courtney's dampness splatters the floor beneath her. Just the latest rush, and it's more than all the lubing pre he's managed to fill her palm with. But that's to be expected. "That said, a bit of realism, Van."

_ Time for a bit of a caution. _ "There  _ are  _ so many others, it's true. But I'm pretty big, thanks to your inability to keep your shooter in the holster, cutie."

Her finger flicks lightly at his holdout derringer-- at least, that's how it scales to her. "Bet that's the first time you've been  _ thanked _ for that, but… Mm." The groan shudders through her.

Van, wisely, stays silent, but the taste of his fear… Her panting gets louder, and louder, her breath almost knocking him off his feet. "Okay, enough. Fuck. Can't resist any more."

"Wha--" Van gasps, but silences himself as her hands grab his ridiculously tiny shoulders, just barely bigger than a starring NFL fullback. The  _ squeeze _ of her potent hands-- her fingers able to completely wrap around-- only gets a stifled yelp of pain, but that's all she wanted.

Her wet tongue comes out, and she tastes herself on him.  _ Y'know, I know I taste good. Knew it the second I woke up. But oh, man, it's nice to feed. _

So feed she does. In long, slow slurps across his head.

It confuses him almost as much as humiliates him, but Courtney can't really keep up the serious demeanour. "Oh, man, I taste  _ so _ good."

Groaning, she slurps again. Another lick. "You're a lucky bastard, Van."

Lick. "So-o-o freaking good."

Lick. "Unf. Mmm--don't you just love how much more my pussy can ejaculate than this poor little thing?"

Flick; lick.

And then...

Squeeze. Van can't really answer verbally, but how much stiffer his body tries to make him is answer enough. She inhales sharply as she grabs the once-haughty villain by the crotch again.

Courtney snorts with amusement as he slaps his own thighs, teeny little seventy-six centimeter things. That circumference marks them out-- they'd be so teeny even if he was at one to one height with her.

His fingers dig into them as he shakes, trying to keep himself from moving his hands. 

Charmed by his helplessness, Courtney takes her time caressing his still-sticky shaft with a hand that could smash yesterday's moon, wondering if he'll actually go so far as to bleed himself.  _ He'd better not. _

_ I'll have to discourage that pretty harshly if you do. _ _ I'm the only one who gets to injure you like that, buddy. You won't like how I'll react if I have to put mittens, booties, and a muzzle on you. _ He probably won't like being treated like a self-injuring dog, but he  _ is _ her bitch now.

An image comes to mind. A deliciously absurd look for her fucktoy, but alas, not a practical one.  _ E-collar would probably be a bit too awkward, sadly. _

A quirky grin reasserts itself-- and she laughs, seeing and feeling Van shudder in fear. "Yeah," she sniffs. "A better method presents itself."

Half-reassurance, half-test. "Can you do this for me, sweetie? You know the rules are still in effect. Can you do it?"

He groans. "Courtney, please-- I don't know if I can stop from cumming with you jerking me off! I've never had this much sensation, this much  _ heat. _ "

Frantically, he stares up at his owner and babbles. "Not in a hand, not in a mouth, not in a pussy. Nothing like your hand, just your hand… Please-- I can't take it!"

His howls make Courtney feel so  _ good. _ "The rules stand," she moans at him. No such rules are in effect for her, after all, and her face grows red and her pupils dilate as she owns him.

Each word is like fucking him. Not on the dick.  _ In _ the dick. Like she was sounding him and not giving him a handjob.

"I cum, you're being a good boy," Courtney coos. Her pussy's folds clench and flutter, eager for a dick to conquer-- even one like his.

"You cum, and you're a bad eunuch until the regeneration kicks in." The agonized wail gets her over the edge, and she turns her knees out a bit, flashing him the glory of her sex in climax once more. She winks. "Sounds fair to me!"

Just to remind him of his place in things, Courtney lets a few half-suppressed giggles through as she curls her immensely strong, supple fingers around his cock. "So  _ cute! _ " she squeals.

_ This perky enough for you, bitch? _ Every stroke of her squeezing hand is warm and firm-- and makes his nerves clash into each other with endless pleasure. Every chortle reminds him just how  _ amusing  _ his little prick is.

"Be grateful. You know your purpose."

"To please you!"

"Mmm. Just right."

And it all does please her. Her labia are nearly as engorged with arousal as when she first woke up after her double-pulse.  _ My hard, throbbing clit? Oh yeah. Stiffer than even his dick can manage in in my hand. _ _ I really am  _ more _ than Vandal Savage, aren't I? _

Oh, some of it's mixed-- she has to "accidentally" make him wince with too-hard squeezes periodically, making his tears shoot out rather than pre. But the taste of dominating him, the fill for her sadism drive-- it's all the same, either way, to her.

_ The whining, though! I'm so nice to you, Van. And here you are, resenting me for helping you not to jizz again. _ Courtney sniffs. _ Is that maturity? I think not. _

After a few short breaths, Van starts to recover-- from the worst of the panic, at least. She confuses him, she humiliates him, and she's currently doing creative things with his nerves.

_ Science, fuckboi! _ _ I have to explore my powers, and you're such a good little test dildo. If I can make you believe that  _ both _ a (very) tight little pussy is clinging to your cock,  _ and _ my grip, huge and crushing as it is… _

_ Then I can do anything at all to you. _

As it happens, Courtney can, in fact, do anything at all to her Van. The increased confusion, the crazed look in his eyes as he keeps looking down, unable to see past her enormous arm but not so stupid as to believe she's been carrying a fleshlight around somewhere-- it all adds up.

All she has to do is add the occasional extra tension from her fingertips, cutting off blood flow or messing with the nerves further, and he just… can't… cum.

_ Hey, I've gotta get off  _ somehow _. This is it-- for now. He's sure as hell not going to do it if he can't even bring himself to touch me. _

Or, as he is, actively trying not to touch her. It was amusing, but now… An irksome sign.  _ I didn't order the bitch to keep his hands off. _

_ It's wasting effort and making my tits feel positively unloved. Is it because they're bigger than your torso, pretty little guy? _

There's an extra sheen of sweat on Van's from the effort taken to keep his hands from her body. She considers him for a moment.  _ Does he even know why he can't climax? _

The desperation in his eyes, and how much he trembles as he tries to keep his hands away, suggests the answer is might actually be yes.

"Caution, I wonder?" Courtney asks with a long groan, thumbing his balls in a slow, rolling motion. If her middle finger is longer than his cock--  _ And it is _ \-- her thumb is much wider. "Or are those my whips you feel in your mind already?" 

He clears his throat, blinking, managing to find his balance despite the pleasuring squeeze of her hand.  _ Whoops. Just a flogger in his head, Court. Gotta work on that. _

The smoothness of his voice is a delight-- and a disappointment.  _ I let him recover too much. This bounceback thing has its downsides. _ "Courtney, a--"

So she works on him; works him over. Jerking back and forth faster, deftly forcing his nerves to send more and more convincing false signals of Surprise Hand Cunny. Swiftly, he gasps, closing his eyes as he reacts to her hand and words outside of his own control.

_ My control. Mine! _

Her smell is all around them both now. She bobs her head back and forth, inhaling and licking her lips. Her nose won't let Courtney stop tasting both of them, but even the weak little hunting skills of a Cro-Magnon make him understand how horny she is. How dangerous that will be.

"You can see it," she whispers. "You can smell it."

Courtney smirks. "So what's the truth,  _ hand _ some?"  _ Oh, come on, that was porn comedy gold, Van! _ He just shudders.

Trembling, more than a bit weaker, he continues, "A certain degree of caution is a mark of power." Van grimaces, but the grimace is suddenly overcome with a blush-red that knows nothing of shame, only the closeness of climax.

Involuntarily, his teeth chatter as he tries to weasel more and more.. "Sp-speaking as someone who has d-d-done a bit of human-scale ty-t-tyranting, puh-pl-please, take it as a compliment." As usual with him…

It really isn't. He actually means it to be, for once, but even in his terror… He manages to find condescension.

Courtney is not sure if that counts as a superpower.

In the end, Van throws back his head and wails, gyrating his hips back and forth to thrust himself against her merciless member-squeezing.

_ What an interesting mix. _ He's weaseling, telling her, 'Caution,' while the sudden fresh surge of precum says 'Whips.'  _ A little bit of fun, a little bit of work, and, hey, a mix it is! _

Courtney growls again. Just for the tone, and for the flinches he makes that get her gushing again.  _ I am going to enjoy that voice of his after we get past the ego phase, and then the vizier phase-- I may have to shave off his goatee-- and then to the fun phase. _

_ If it wasn't for the hint of "you idiot," that he can't keep out of his voice yet, he'd sound like he's begging me to take him to bed. _

Which he will do anyway. Soon enough. For now, she'd like to cum-- and that means she's going to have to take matters tighter in hand.

Courtney frowns, still crouching, still playing the game a bit. He cringes, trying to fake submission. It's just a bit too much, his body plainly telling her his plans.

_ Trying to control me through apparent servility? Really? You think I'm going to fall for that? _

So, casually, she hooks the thick breadth of her right leg around behind him, her knee forcing its way into his back. He's trapped all the tighter, and real panic spreads now; she can feel it in him both front and back. His thrashing pleases her much more against her sensitive acres of breastflesh; the puny things he might call trapezius muscles, not so much.

Slowly, she pushes up slowly with the ball of her right foot. The hardness of her kneecap makes Van cringe for real. "There's the pain," she whispers. "I'm getting tired of  _ you _ repeating yourself, too."

"Cou-- pl… ah--- Mercy, I beg!" he splutters. Just a little patella pressure, grinding his spine together and all but smothering him with the heaviness of her breast as he's forced against it, tighter and tighter.

_ Time for fu-u-u~un! _ "Obey me," she demands, grunting deeply. Courtney presses two fingers in at the root of his cock, tensing the smaller muscles in them to grind it over his shaft, making him feel more of the hardness.

All the while, her still-curled fingertips draw pleasured pictures for him. Keep screaming at him to thrust, to stroke. She makes him feel so much pleasure, and so much force, in just tightly contained measures.

"There!" she moans. "Fuck, you're finally feeding me some sex, baby!" 

Courtney intensifies the jerking of her hand, grinning wildly. "There we go." Her other hand pats her hard, hard belly. "Fill me up, little slut. Fill me  _ all _ the way up."

"Mer-- merc-- M!" He squeaks again. His pupils are dilating; his cock trying to jump and jerk back against her fondling hand.

_ Hopeless, of course, is my Van. _ Neither succeed-- not the attempts to move nor his attempts to comprehend function.

_ Mastermind. Feh. _

She says nothing else. Disappointment furrows her brow.  _ Not that I'm  _ actually  _ disappointed; it's just that the longer I frown, staying silent, the more real his cringes become. _ The more real those, the more he serves her pussy, her clit, her nips as they drag across him.

The only outward sign he has of any approval to match it is the steady flood of femmejuices, still leaving quite the pool on the concrete below.

By the time her eyes flick down to look at his hands again, and she quirks an eyebrow, it's not just his thin little tool that's stiff against her.

_ Hee hee. That may be my fault. Just maybe. _

""I can't--!" Van can't manage a full sentence, is what he can't.

Not with her nearness. Not with the heat of her larger body making the cool cave air itself oppressive on him. All he got was the one, when he was trying to be clever.

It doesn't help that she keeps licking his face. 

Courtney just keeps on licking.  _ Hey, I taste good, and his tears are like the perfect condiment. _ "Mm. You can't?" she slurps up a bit more-- then nips his ear.

A reminder. Her voice raises to a growl again. "You  _ can't? _

He babbles, squirming in her grip now.

She has no time for Van's nonsense. "You think there's something you  _ can't _ when I tell you to do it?" She still hasn't let him wipe her cunny-jizz off in the first place.

The more she opens her mouth wide, to either let out a long moan or to slurp up her fluid, the more he panics.  _ Which is good. If his obedience track record is anything to go by, I'm going to need to build up some orgasms to tolerate what he tries with his tongue. _

All he can do is moan and squeak.  _ Definitely back in the headspace he's best suited for, the little pain-slut. Just… well. Just not in submissive mode in a useful sense. What's the point of a beaten bitch if he can't kiss ass and worship pussy? _

Fortunately, he feeds Courtney, and that keeps her good and reving. His shaking body, the quarter thrusts her slowly caressing hand forces out of him, the sudden stops as he realizes that liberties with her hand may result in corrective surgery…

It's all the actions of a tasty little prey species. A bit more weasel-ish than most, but not a true, mustelid predator.

She lets herself drool, just a fleck, and teases it off the edge of her lip with her tongue. A slow swirl around her lick follows. Only a whine escapes his throat now; only the pleasure his cock can't escape from her fingers gives him any movement at all.  _ Squirm, squirm, little guy… _

It makes her almost want to literally devour him, but eugh.  _ No, thanks. I'd rather feed three hungers for centuries than just one for a moment. _

Still. Van is all so…  _ there. _ Panic-driven sweat mixing with her pussyjuices and the occasional tear. She can't help herself.

Still giving him the worst-best handjob he's ever had, Courtney takes a good, long  _ lick _ again, from a bare patch on the side of his neck to just under his eye.

Shuddering, moaning, she flexes her right leg all the harder. Her quad bulges dangerously, rippling with mountainous power, cramming him up against, into the heat of her right tit. He panics again, thrashing, and she growls on. All the while more and more rapidly slurping up her ejaculated pussy-cum from his face.

_ It almost feels like I'm eating myself out! _ "Yes,  _ fuck _ but you're a little weasel!" Courtney snarls at him.

It's delicious, the biochemical condiment to her true meal. That taste, fear mixed with her, is nice enough, but the weakness only makes her sadism-drive hungrier. Panting, gasping in between each lick, she flexes her pectoral muscles, grinding her tits over him.

Slowly, Van begins to shudder, to pull back and away. But there's nowhere to go. No  _ way _ to go.

There's just Courtney, massive, muscled, and everywhere around him. She ducks her head around, considering him. "You have a lot to learn," she growls.

Van whines, smaller, thinner frame shuddering. Even with her restrictive hand, she's not sure how much longer he can hold out. She goads him by groan and by grunt, her pillowy tits smacking his chest around, more than her nipples leaving bruises on him.

"C'mon, Van. I give you permission," she tells him with another soft, swift set of jerks of her hand, using sex-like flutters of her fingers to keep him confused. It's adorable… and delicious.

Then Courtney grips her hand as hard as he can bear without beginning to lose his hardon. The sudden force makes his eyes go wide and the whine rise in pitch. "Let's make it an order, even."

Courtney pauses, letting hope start to rise in his eyes as his balls swell, far too-tight with cum. "Yep, an order," she says, and makes it. "Take those hands off your pencil thighs. Hold on to me." 

Van doesn't even have the strength to protest. He just shudders, moaning, and flails his arms around, still trapped in the confusion of  _ his _ decisions about how to obey her.

_ Bad choice, First Fucktoy. Bad choice. _

Chewing her lip, Courtney bobbles him with her knee, jogging the thin little caveman against her melon, and off her arm. It's frustrating her, and she usually wouldn't tolerate that, but she's so close, and if she breaks his ribs on her arm like she wants to, she's going to have to start the learning process on "obey" again.

So Van gets a bit more oversized boob and a lot less overmuscled arm in the bouncing she forces on him. She chuckles as he stares up at her, confused. His hands are off his legs, but he's clearly not figured out that he needs to do what she wants.

What she wants is his submission. What he's giving her are dribbles, and she  _ will _ remember, later.

_ I have to dial back some, or it's going to go right back to "squoosh, squoosh, squoosh."  _ Still, some gentleness is good for them both now. Her feral smile softens, and she kisses his forehead.

"Hug me if you need to, baby," Courtney purrs. She coos lightly at him, calling his shuddering nerves to rest as she continues to weave and shimmy in place.

Some blonde strands fall in her eyes. They can't impede her vision, but it's an irritant. Something out of place. Errant thoughts flash by as she considers him.

Mostly about her hair, honestly. Van isn't  _ too _ hard to figure out.  _ I gotta do something with all this, but I don't really want the long ponytail again. Hrm. Something to think about. _

Tossing her long hair about, Courtney takes her hand from his head for a moment, stroking her fingers back through her hair and collecting it behind her left ear and over her shoulder. "Van," she insists. "Obey  _ me. _ It will be so much easier."

Just to emphasize matters, she leaves her fingers up, just past her forehead and pumps her huge bicep up, right by his head.

Up… and up… and  _ up _ . Every bit of her sculpted upper arm looms as she tightens her fist. The taut skin vibrates so much from the well-defined muscle mountain within it's almost humming.

It is, of course,  _ far _ bigger than Van's. His biceps, together, even… More, his biceps, together, and them together with his head. He gets the point, shivering as his arms begin to slowly reach for her.

Clucking her tongue against her teeth, she gives him another gently condescending smile. "Aw, Van. That's it." His trembling arms squeeze-- well, "squeeze"-- as tight as they can around her.

Taking a moment to enjoy their differences, she runs over to run a thumb over the corresponding area of his upper right arm, shaking her head.

"Lazy," Courtney accuses-- teasing, mostly.  _ I'm going to be more serious about making him un-laze, though. " _ In fifty thousand years, you'd think you'd put in some gym time."

As his jaw drops at her in confusion, she gives a half-grin. "What's this, sixty, sixty-five centimeters max?" She sighs, pressing her thumb down and forcing his arm to straighten out without much trouble.

Then she pats his arm, letting it go. She grunts when he lets it fall away, but he's just quivering now. Not entirely with fear; the throb of his dick steadily increased with his heartrate as she overpowered his arm.

_ But still too much.  _ She tilts her head around with a skeptical look, as if she needed to do so to peer down between them. "At least it's better than  _ this. _ "

She squeezes his this-ness, throbbing and drooling precum over her right hand. She can sense it throb even without it, but she loves watching him shudder and flinch when she coats his captive cock in his pre.  _ Gotta do everything for you, Van, even lube you up. But I don't want you chafing before I'm ready. _

"Anyway," Courtney sighs, then glares. " _ Hold _ me." He swallows, eyes flitting back and forth. "I'm serious! I'm tired of watching your chicken wings flap."

It really is pathetic-- when not holding her or being completely limp in fear and exhaustion, they just keep flapping about, like he thought he could fly away from her.  _ Aw, honey, _ she thinks.  _ I'd catch you. You're  _ never _ getting away. _

The struggles slow, and Van's hands start to reach out for the giant prominences of her left arm. Her smile broadens; it's even warm. "Mm," she groans. "See, sweetie? You  _ can _ pleasure your owner. You just have to obey."

His eyes glaze; he's simply too far under her spell to whine at her claim right now. Fingers still shuddering, he plants one palm on her inner forearm. "You like that, baby?" she asks, but doesn't pump out yet.

It would make things harder for him. Courtney wants him holding her, and already, even with all five fingers spread, he can't reach the sides of her arm. He swallows, trying anyway, stroking the cool skin and feeling it vibrate with tautness. Like it should be some liquid metal, and not skin.

But the hotness remains beneath. The longer his hands rest, the more his eyes widen, feeling the heat of her musculature beneath. The banded, tight fibers, muscles pulling upon muscles.

"You're going to get over that, you know," she tells him. He tries to look up at her quizzically, but fails, as though his head is too heavy to lift-- like his eyes are inexorably anchored to the power of her arms.

She chuckles. "All this reticence," she explains. "You're not a very obedient little slut yet. Keep going."

Impatient, Courtney tilts her head the other way and gives an almost sympathetic little nod. Van's other hand, steadier, comes up around the outside, towards her elbow. Progress.

Her eyes close for a moment. She's fairly certain he doesn't realize how much she can see anyway.  _ So close to the mold I intend for him. _

Then, Courtney smirks, letting the chill of it settle over him. "There is a cost." Her eyes open, and blue irises pin him as much as the breast and leg smooshing him between them.

Not unexpectedly, it's back to Savage Statue time. Eyebrow quirking, she adds, "Not that you have a choice-- that  _ was _ an order." 

No more statue.  _ Now  _ the other hand comes all the way in. Feeling tremulously along the outside of her arm. Her bones grew-- repeatedly, actually, thanks to him. 

The elbow he touches is big for itself alone, not just the heavy meat all around. "Here's the  _ damage _ ," she growls, enjoying how it makes him jump.

How tightly Van holds onto her anyway, despite the jump, pleases her, though. "If your hands are on me-- you rub," she commands.

Courtney shifts her head back, and juts her jaw to the left a bit, thinking. "Well," she laughs softly, and fluffs his pussy-soaked hair around. "You rub, or you fight."

Her eyes flare but the fire doesn't reach her voice. "I want to feel what you  _ do _ ," she drawls. "Even if that isn't much."

The coldness of her smirk and the heaviness of the cost makes his jaw drop again, his neat little beard still coated in her orgasmic fluids. His voice starts out, just for a moment, with something of his arrogance in his disbelief, but at least he's wise enough not to tell her no, directly. Still, it takes him two tries; the first is just a hubristic little squeak.

"You'll kill me--" he objects. But he doesn't  _ get _ to object. Still, it feeds.

_ Unf. He's all but paralyzed with fear. Almost there, _ she promises her poor, disappointed sex.  _ He's almost ready to be broken again, so I can make him heal right _ .

_ Make him heal up as mine. _ Courtney's nostrils flare at his defiance, displeased. The displeasure jerks him in her arms almost as effectively as the arms themselves would.

As he stammers, her stare slams into him, slapping his arrogance down like a giant palm crashing down from the heavens.

Caught, Van can manage nothing more before the shakes break the thin sheet of ice she'd put in him. Soon, he's stammering, unable to finish that sentence or any other. "No, you…" He gasps. "You'll do… you'll…"

_ Bo-ring _ . She hums acquisitively, greedy for new experiences with her wonderful new body, and lets out a sharp little moan. Then her smile fills out like an ocean of sharks.

"Killing you would be fun, I'll admit…" she groans. His eyes go wide again, especially as she pulls a bit harder on his dick. "But…"

Courtney winks. "But it might let you escape. Can't have that before you even know which home to come back to when I call."


	16. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It probably wasn't wise of Vandal Savage to give Courtney Whitmore the idea to hunt him down if she escaped. Of course, by that he meant that she would kill him if he touched her...
> 
> Despite her orders.
> 
> Not only was it a contradiction he isn't permitted anymore, but the massive, three meters tall Hunter is well aware he doesn't stay dead. And the things she shall do to him if she has to hunt him down... Well. She'll enjoy them, at least.
> 
> He won't.
> 
> So since he continues to try to squirm from her muscular grip and avoids the lush curves of her titanic body, she needs to teach him. To bring his real inner self out. At least-- the real inner self she's forging him into.
> 
> Muscle-addicted pain-slut. Was it what he used to be? Well, a quick review of his perpetual approach to plotting (and resultant failure) makes him seem masochistic to Courtney.
> 
> And no one else matters, as far as he should be concerned. Especially not him. It's a long learning process.
> 
> But as it happens, she enjoys teaching this way, and, hey, when she succeeds...
> 
> He'll enjoy learning by agony so intense it is transmuted into pleasure.
> 
> Pleasure, and obedience

The immense Hunter named Courtney Whitmore, once called Stargirl, is looming over Vandal Savage still. She holds his cock in her hand, masturbating him with contempt. Ten inches might be big for a human, but what's twenty-five centimeters to a greedy Hunter pussy, scaled to her three meters of height?

Nothing, so she permits him no orgasms. She just keeps taunting him, ordering him to hug her and struggle to be free. He tries, but it's almost as pathetic as his prick. So she makes her own fun, pinning him between her arm and her breast and her thigh, just one side of her far more than he can manage.

But her orders seem to be a problem for Van. He seems to think that his terror of being killed matters. That some temporary pain and whatever he does to heal is more important than her direct commands.  _ Time to see if you  _ can  _ really learn. Or if that was just a fluke, before. _

Courtney ordered him to struggle with her. He thinks protesting is okay at this juncture. He is wrong.

Very wrong, and she debates how much of that to demonstrate on him.

Thoughts strike as Van's hands fall away again. Her multitasking mind has so much time, thinking with the same reflexes that would make a Speed Forced Talon of the Court of Owls seem impossibly slow. It gives her infinitely long to come up with such erotic, sadistic fantasies that it nearly gets her to cum again.

Just from considering how she'd react if tries to flee after death.

Not quite.  _ Phone Sex Man, he ain't, not yet, despite the voice. _ But it does make her deliberately squeeze her huge thighs together, feeling her arousal drip between them.

She promises herself so much if he fails them both.

Courtney's voice lowers to a groan. "Oh, the things I'll do to you if I have to hunt you down…" She sucks her lower lip in under her teeth, opens her eyes again, and lets them widen in predatory delight.

Her fingers twist on his shaft, tensing it, not painfully yet, but so close that it's almost enough to get him climaxing, despite her order.  _ Mine, _ she thinks.  _ Not as good as I deserve, but mine. _

To Van, she moans, "Remember, you're the one who gave me the iiii-deeee-as." Then she licks his tears up in a swirl, collecting them with her rich-tasting femmecum on her tongue.

Van shudders, panting heavily while her thumb massages his precum-coated hard-on. He tries to start babbling again, but she stops him.

"Shh, shh," she tells him, the stimulating edge of her nails tracing her mark over his balls-- just barely too little to leave more than that mark, but they both know she could do so much more.

"It's okay." she promises. He actually seems to respect that, his breath slowing once again. 

She moans it out now, loving her power over him. "It's okay," she repeats. "You can rely on my word. Always"

_ This conversation is a lot like jerking his poor little shaft off, honestly.  _ In and out, back and forth, the rhythm goes. Kinda fun, really.

Tease Van's ego back into stiffening up. Squeeze it down. Coo it back out-- hammer it down.

_ It's a forging process; a collar I put on his mind will last so much longer than even depleted promethium would, if I folded it carefully around his throat. _

_ It's a frigging process too, thankfully. My fingers would be better, but Caveman a la Brainfuck serves a dual pleasure-purpose. _

Van starts to settle. To more smoothing grind his hips back and forth, not quite matching the rhythm of her squeezing, masturbating hand. His tongue lolls out, and his eyes roll back a bit. Even without a bodily orgasm, he seems to be having problems not just relaxing into the brainbreak.

Which would be good for her purposes-- to break his brain to fit her mould-- except that he's getting comfortable with this.  _ Like he thinks he's the one fucking my hand. Oh, poor, stupid Vandal Savage. _

_ Time for another hammer. He knows he can rely on my word. Too much, honestly-- there's that knowledge of my kind from ages ago _ .

Van's slumping back forward, the quivery little tightness she can't quite call taut starting to release. Slowly. So slowly, melting into her.

Her voice rings over him, cold and hard as her fist. "Do what I tell you, Van," she says grimmly, "And you'll only get hurt."

"What?' It's not a physical wham, but he jerks back, as though struck by the hammer in her words directly. He's trapped; the motion just slams his shoulderblades back against her knee

This time, the pain in him almost really does get him across.

Not enough. His balls tighten and his cock twitches, but her fingers are there, squeezing the vas deferens just so. It's not the only part of the process, but it's enough to stifle him.

_ Stifle him, and feed me. You  _ shall _ feed me! More, Van. Much more! _

"I'm going to hurt you," Courtney tells him coldly. "That, officially, is what you're  _ for _ ."

Van's body stiffens, his pale, spindly imitations of her splendid muscles going "taut." Her ice breaks into a warm moan. "Oh yeah, pretty man. Courtney's Little Pain Bitch."

She groans again, melting the ice entirely, but it's no more of a comfort. Her smile is born of bared teeth, her tongue licking over the edges. "Mm," she pants, and that's when she  _ really _ widens her eyes.

Her smile, too, threatening to swallow him as she moans. "No. Not just my pain  _ bitch _ . You  _ like _ this, Van."

He's learning to recognize her pleasure for what it is. A hunting cry. So she pushes on.

"You like it," she repeats, voice low and husky. "You're Courtney's Little Pain  _ Slut _ ."

Babbling is all Van manages. She shakes her head, cutting off his choked cry.  _ If he seriously interrupts right now… _

_ I might just do elective surgery.  _ "I'll tattoo it on if I need to." Her thumbnail starts to trace the letters on her intended canvas. Not an actual burning mark, but pressure.

Courtney takes her time, stroking along his pre-drooling cock as he shudders in her literal grasp. Lightly, but thoroughly.  _ Just to make sure he knows where each letter will go. How I'll sign his cock. _

His old Savage-ness strikes again. It's a bit ridiculous, eyebrows still moist from her climax, but he furrows his brow and half-barks, "You don't need to do--" A slowly harshening squeeze interrupts him with a groan-- then a gasp-- then a yelp.

"Don't I?" she growls, squeezing harder. He sobs as she verbally slaps his objection aside. "Then why are your hands back on  _ you _ ? Look, if you need more explicit instructions--  _ bring _ that fucking right arm up."

As though her words were her fists, they yank his arm up, obedient. "Yeah, okay, you can make the hypno-zombie look sexy. Keep going," she commands, and he whimpers.

Rolling her eyes, she flexes her gargantuan left pec, bobbing and jiggling its accompanying mega-breast. "Go on," she commands. "Shove it between my arm and my tit. There's a good boy. You're going to need to get used to petting that. Oooh!"  _ There it is, Vanny. _

Finally, Van pleases her.  _ Finally _ , he obeys! Her corded throat catches, the shudders sending muscle and breastflesh crashing over him. The squeeze of her breast intensifies, as does the squeeze of her hand. Muscles ripple, grinding over his trembling hands.

"Now." she demands. "Now! Shove against my arm! Struggle a bit, honey, shake it for mama."

Swiftly, still trembling, his hands come up. He follows her orders, one by one, in rapid-fire obedience that's kind of impressing. Sort of.

_ Only sort of. Man…  _ Courtney's wobbling tit-mountain barely feels it. To be honest, with how much he struggles under the weight of boob, she has the amusing sense that if she truly flexed that pectoral muscle, good and hard, it'd make her breast crush his hand against her arm.

_ A thought for later, that. Poor wimpy Vandal Savage.  _ Still, she smiles warmly again, letting him know she does, in fact, permit this, sighing happily even. 

It might be better to say Courtney's tit barely feels the  _ force. _ In moments, her expectations are actually exceeded. "Yes," she hisses. "Yes-- obey me. Fight my muscles, Van! Ahhhh-- mmm!"

He flails, impotent to move away but the wriggling feels good. "Oh,  _ unf _ ," she grunts. It's not her best orgasm ever, but she makes sure he feels it. She all but crushes him between the dense softness of her pillowing tit and the anvil-slam blow of her rugged thigh. Gasping for a moment, she leaves him trapped, thrashing around in an increasingly small space.

Finally, Courtney calms. Kinda. "Fuck, you squirm good!" she compliment-taunts him. "My little weasel-bitch."

She smirks; he's having some problems getting any action at all from the arm that's all but enveloped by her extra-share of extra-large titflesh.

The thought makes her chew harder on her inner cheek. "Having some problems even  _ lifting _ my boob, Van?" She coos again, trying hard not to giggle as his eyes go wide.

His fingers tremble once more against the huge mass of her bicep, feeling the bands bulge dangerously from just the light pull of moving her hand around his groin.  _ I wonder if he knows that's only bulging because I'm having to exert myself to keep all the pressure light? I could hurt him so much more. _

Little, tiny arms, the kind that would have looked good spotting for her in any gym  _ until _ tonight, weakly trembling as they follow her orders, trying to fight her.

It's honestly so adorable her cunt just has to squeeze down hard. "So cute!" Courtney coos again, unable to help herself. The post-orgasmic bliss isn't as big of a hit as cumming over him to wake him up, but then again, it wasn't as much of an orgasm.

But, still, she does have a pretty good near-smile on her face.

Even though the condescension makes Van soften ever-so-slightly.  _ It's not that much harder for me to keep him hard, anyway. Just a little rub and… Sproing! _

She squeezes her body more around him. He's trapped by breast, trapped by bicep, trapped by her thick, thunderstorm thigh.  _ Just plain trapped is my Van. _ Her sweat covers him now, drenching his own away.

Sproing even more.  _ Aw, he likes breathing! _ She tickles his cocktip a bit and he gives up his fight, burying his face against her huge bicep, sobbing and gasping and shuddering into it.

_ Honestly! He's lucky I'm not decorating him in pink glitter, he's so cute. His cock virtually makes the sproing's oing-oing-oing sound all on its own! _

Pushing his head back, she clicks her tongue. Van abruptly goes stiffly to attention in more than just his dick's favorite salute. He seems to be getting the cue, so when his eyes open, she winks.

"I'm going to have to take you along on my weightlifting routine, aren't I?" She slaps her thigh hard, sending little sonic booms around, then rubs her palm onto her squishing, rounded knocker. "Yeah, sweetie."

She shakes the tit in question over and at him. "Get you in shape for a couple hundred kilos boob-press," she purrs.

Courtney smirks. "We'll start you with a few hundred kilos on the bar before you start trying these ladies directly as a  _ routine _ , though." She clicks her teeth and shakes her head.

With that, she shifts her rugged shoulders, whapping her melons into Van and finding new spots for her nipples to bruise him. "Shit!" she moans.

"Fuck, honey, do you know how good it feels when you flinch from just my nips?" the enormous Hunter coos. "I'm just going to love having you try to pump teat rather than iron-- it's more your métier." 

As he panics, sobbing overtaking his moans, she offers to help. "I can spot you, even!" she chirps. It's not enough; he's still panicking.

_ Nuh-uh, Vanny, _ Courtney thinks.  _ You're staying ri-i-ight where I like you. _

Fruitlessly, Van shoves his palms against her forearm. Hard as he can. She doesn't even jiggle any harder, her breasts still wobbling their wonderfully wide way against his body. Just a little squooshing as he keeps flailing.

Seeing no need to restrain herself, she looms in closer and licks her own cum off his face again. "I can spot you with one hand." she moans.

"Oh yeah-- mmm." Her toes press down, squeezing her thigh back behind him up and making it ripple and bulge with more muscles. 

"One  _ finger _ ," she groans, tongue flicking out again. "The other hand will keep jilling me off." 

Courtney shudders, the pleasure of the plan even greater than her own self-touching. Darting forward, licks his face again, tasting her wake-up call. "All. Over. You."

Van is terrified of her once more, as he should be. He's trying desperately with his free hand to shove her arm away, to somehow try to get his trapped hand loose. It just makes her moan harder.

"Yeah-- oh  _ yeah, _ " she pants. "Keep squirming, my worm." Her tongue lolls to the side as his wiggling panic feels like a well-warmed toy being rubbed all over her titanic tit.

_ Guess at thirty-seven Centigrade, he  _ is _ a well warmed toy. _ "Do it!" she commands urgently. "Keep squirming, oh, fuck, yes!"

Her moans get louder and louder. "Keep it  _ up. _ " She brings the hand not squeezing his poor, abused dick up to her still-dripping pussy, starts to work some of the flowing juices over her still-swelling labia.

Then Courtney stares directly into his eyes, her wild blonde mane bouncing on after her head fixes direction "Just…" A gasp rips through her. "Mmm, yeah-- just like that."

_ No matter how good it feels to have my titties given their due, if I don't keep my fingers familiar down there at least part of the time, my nether lips are going to stop speaking to me! _

_ … _

_ Okay, not my best metaphor. C'mon, brain, you can invent new interdimensional math just because I want to make a booty call, but you can't keep my banter fresh? _

Even Hunter powers have their limits, it seems.

He's flailing now, trying hard to follow her order and fight her strength. It's a good thing that she wanted the effort, and isn't expecting action-- his boob-belabored squirming is pleasurable, but about as impotent as his shaft would be from the moment she decided to let her fingers clench every bit as hard as her skilled self-stroking is making her cunny bear down.

Not until his regeneration kicks in, anyway.

Courtney does not so clench. Not yet. She's in the mood to be generous.

Sort of generous.  _ His pain is mine! _ She may not be letting him feel her full power, but he feels the force nonetheless. It's just a soft squeeze of his seed-laden balls, just impossibly lightly for her-- and scream-evoking for him.

It makes her nips throb even more as they squeeze in against him. "G-g-gonna… mm!" She tosses her head back, kissing the air and closing her eyes. "Gonna  _ hurt  _ you," she groans, reminding him.

It's not really necessary, of course. Courtney's just drawing a contrast.

He apparently needs some comparisons  _ imprinted _ into his brain.  _ Because it's time-- he's at the crux point. _ With her full permission to cuddle her, order even, Van tries so desperately to get himself away.

_ It's not like you don't want to be trapped, Van. I can see the lust in you. It's not just the pleasure of my handjob from hell _ .

Van's weak struggles become more and more frantic. Her eyes widen with pleasure once more, and she nods rapidly at him. "Yeah, Vanny," she pants. "Yeah, you got it."

Both hands, big for the humans that are his descendents, hammer at her wrists, trying to get it to even unlock a bit from the vice she calls a hand.

_ Nope! Heh. _ He doesn't even disturb her tendons.

It's time for explanations. "This is  _ hurting _ , as you seem to get," Courtney says with a low, hungry chuckle that batters him with her tits, bigger than his torso, once more.

"But you're following orders-- for the moment-- and, hey, not cumming like a bad little pain slut. Good job, that."

She leans across his chest. The poor thing is far thinner than even one of her huge pecs, let alone the softness she's squishing all about him. "So as long as you don't push the rules or my boundaries too far, I'm not going to  _ harm _ you. Is the distinction  _ clear? _ "

"Yes, Courtney!" Van howls.  _ Wait, was that the squeeze or the understanding? _ Her senses penetrate every aspect of his body.

_ Looks like it's a bit of both. A bit too much of the former for my purposes, poop on it.  _ So she dials down the gain on her clench. Just a bit.

It's enough.

Yet again, something snaps in Vandal Savage. She's breaking him. Making him her slave on the inside of his head, not just when under her direct hand.

He's been a breaker, too. She's seen the reports on what he does to those whom he believes are the due of the First Tyrant.  _ Stockholm syndrome is just the least of what you've inflicted. _

_ Of course, it takes you weeks, months even, for poor deprived humans. You? For me? _

It's not even been an hour yet, and the snapping of Vandal Savage continues. Another thread of resistance to her will, permanently cut. It's enough to make him slump forward, only barely stopping before the sobs go into her boobs.

Her groaning ripples her girls right on over her little boy-toy. He peers up at her, and she shrugs. "Go all-in."

Amused, Courtney pats the back of his head. "Cry a bit. You're only making me hornier."

Van is at that. Shivering with desire, she takes another slurp of his face. Seizing his tears in the process. "Mmm. Tasty, too. Cry  _ all  _ you want, little Van."

Whimpering, the ego Courtney detected as he woke squished as thoroughly as she could his cock… or head… or everything… he sinks against her. His weeping face sobs into her soft titflesh, crying his freedom right out. There's a loveliness to that, too, pulsing electrical charges of pleasure radiating out from wheresoever a teardrop falls.

Courtney's boobs do love her so. They give her a spreading, tingling warmth as his full body spasms. His so-called "strength" weakly pounds against her, still crying, still trying to dislodge her hand from his dick or his arm from her booblock.

Much like Van himself, the sensation is fun, but has no endurance. Soon enough, she clears her throat, and he freezes his everything. Everything but the frantic attempts to move the forceful cage of her hand from the dick she mocks with every touch.

But those frantic attempts are not rewarded with freedom. They are rewarded; with pain so sharp it both cuts off an incipient orgasm and nearly starts another. Just from a light increase in how tight her fingers are on his dick.

When she's sure she has his attention, she explains. "That's not going to work, hon. Trying to get my hand off you. We both know it."

She licks her lips again. "Stick with that squirmy-wormy flailing against my arm or my breast. That's your limitations, Vanny. That's all you can do. You can worm for me."

_ He's going to be so much happier when he clicks the locks home over his own hope for the last time.  _ The mental image of Van putting his cock in a cage, snapping the locks shut, and then handing her the key makes her nearly cum again, right then and there.  _ Just gotta make sure the cage's  _ attachments  _ are big enough to please me! _

Courtney isn't quite so cruel, but the idea of Van's pleasure permanently so subordinate that she uses his groin to mount her faux-cock playtoys…  _ Oh, yeah, that's good. And he really is such a slut for me already. _

She mentally giggles.  _ For all the, "Vandal Savage, Sooo-Per Genius!" only-adult-in-the-room routine, he just gets confused so easily! _

She groans, shuddering, as her sobbing Cro Magnon looks up at her, confused. "The fighting, babe, I mean," she tells Van in between pants. She kisses him fondly. Just a light peck on his forehead, not even bother to lick this time.

He's still lost, so she sighs, and pats her boob again. "C'mon, sweetie. Arms up and get to work." He hesitates again, caught in pleasure and caught by pain-- and yearning for both.

Courtney urges him along. "Just  _ hug _ me, Van. You can't stop me… so cling to me."

Her powerful hand caresses the back of his head. "Surrender to me. That's all you need to do." She smiles gently. "That's all you ever need to be, to me.  _ Captive _ ," she whispers.

Van melts into her tit.

Or close enough; his not-even-two-meters frame slumps down entirely. Trembling, his fingers reach for her upper arm. She relaxes her hold-flex, just a bit. So the left hand gets there first, stroking and caressing and trying to hang on, all at once.

Van has to shove his right arm in hard so hard he almost tears the shoulder out of its socket on his own. It's a good show, getting another gush from her cunt that's more about how much stronger even her  _ breast _ is than his whole body than anything else.

Courtney sighs. The squirming  _ is _ nice, though. But she really gets off on his weakness.

Even while she despises him for it.  _ A conundrum, that. _ The two drives clash, the horniness and the sadism. The only real opponent in the room-- herself.

Her drives fight.  _ It's like snarling cats, in the darkness I don't have behind my eyes.  _ Over how much pleasure there is Van's pure, pathetic littleness.

Over how much she wants to  _ break _ him for that smallness.  _ Keep it together… you don't want to wait for him to wake up again… _ Her Hungers, decently fed, die down as his squirming and sobbing please her.

More of his precum squirts from his helpless tool. She doesn't punish him for it. Just like she hasn't all the long.

There's simply no point to it, any more than a female toy could stop wetness in her hand. Courtney  _ is _ sex,  _ is _ power… And she wants her sluts to be, ah, reactive. So she just strokes the spent pre all over his cock, like a fucked-up massage oil.

_ Getting a bit too bubbly with him, though… What to do? Break a few more bones? Feels a bit early for that. Let him relax? Meh. _

_ Ah, a compromise. _ Courtney whispers in his ear, "Just remember… Cum without permission again, and, well."

His eyes open, and she shrugs; gargantuan muscles bulge from asteroid delt to asteroid delt, and it does such  _ interesting _ things to her prodigiously vast titties that she has to pre-control him, lest…

"Ri-i-ip," she reminds him. Van cries out, and it is beautiful.

Courtney, though, just laughs-- and squeezes his patheticock a little harder. "R.I.P. isn't quite you, but I guess you get my  _ point. _ "

He knows his place, and she revels in it. The shame, the fear, the exquisite pain he's in-- it's delicious.

_ The combination of panicked prey and lust-filled wretch looks  _ real _ good on someone who once conquered the world through time travel. Not as good as the boobies and biceps that put him in his place, but. _

Courtney's overfilled and overflowing share of mammary perfection are, indeed, a wonder, and not just to her and Van. She only had a bit of the peripheral bisexuality shared by most of humanity when she was among them, but the woman she has become is voracious for cunt as much as cock. Male, female, or some combination does not matter; wretch or Hunter-- only that they please her, that's all that matters to get her wet.

_ It's nice. Really nice. I  _ like  _ being free of that bullshit! _ She does, too; not just her instinctive Hunter pride.

Her mind is  _ free. _ Sorta.

_ Free to rather actually enjoy the beautiful femininity of this sweet, sweet, hyper-developed, hyper-detailed bicep. And when I want? I can enjoy the near-slosh of squishiness when my oh-so-huge boobs wobble about. _

Which said pillowy, giant melons do, taking a lavish, curvy dip.

Only a bit, as though flirting with gravity. Letting it tug a bit. All the better to show off the tops of her striated pectoral muscles. Add a tad of sag to make sure that squishiness shows throughout the obscene masses. Not too much.

To Courtney, it feels just great!  _ Sure, my rack has outgrown even these big ol' shoulders. _ She rolls said rugged, delts starting the squeeze and moving towards her traps. _ Hey, I still have the muscle and they'll always have enough heft to show off my taut tummy. _

The stomach in question tightens, tensing and untensing as she pants. A wave of hardness shoots up her torso, into her chest. The huge muscles there tighten up further, making her obscenely jiggly tits bounce as they perk up further-- giving Van quite a show.

_ Oh yeah. I love  _ some  _ things about this bod just fine! Especially showing off by buff belly to teeny little men whose heads are no higher than my cunt. Like, say the one I have to crouch down so low, just to grab his crotch _

Her other hand has his throat. All of him is within her fist. She's still quivering with satisfaction from the feel of it all.

More than satisfaction. She's feeding, and it is satiation like she'd never known at the best JSA dinners. Van's shock, his fear, his pain-- her triumph over his everything.  _ I was starving so badly when I woke up. _ It took some cooking, but he made for quite the snack, in time.

The ongoing bouncing of soft titty-flesh over hard biceps is lovely. She promises herself she'll get back to her still-stiff clitty by finger or headboinking, later. For now, Courtney lets her fingertips reign on Van. They focus her vast senses, letting her concentrate on simply and almost solely enjoying her prey.

In Van's squirming thrash, she feels everything. The way the aftershocks of pleasure or the pulses of pain affect him in slightly different ways on parallel muscles-- this ab tightens, but that one's a bit slower and softer, for example. Even with her hand on his dick, she can feel the vibrations; it's as good as a prodding each part of him individually.

And it does tell her such stories. The training he struggled into and out of over the years. That's not why his so-called muscles don't have the symmetry  _ hers _ do, that's just natural, but he doesn't even have the delicious 'toughness' of her Al.  _ So lazy! _

It makes her want to squeeze and squeeze… And  _ squeeze! _ She wants Albert Rothstein.

And since this  _ isn't _ Al...

Courtney reminds her she has to keep the dick in the hand, even if she'd need at least two like it in her bush. Vandal Savage simply will have to do, for now. She wants to be a nice big surprise for her Al, after all. Not a short, brief shock.

She leaves Van intact for a moment. She doesn't let him rest, though. The feel of his jerking attempts to clutch onto her arm, the twitch of his still cum-soaked hair as he rests it against her heaving knocker-- it's finally getting good.

Her pussy enjoys it all, streaking her thighs and outling the thick quads in thick femmejuices. All he has to do is writhe, and fail, and squirm, and be stifled.  _ All he has to do is be the loser I named him. _ It stiffens her clit, making the little tight throbbing flesh-nub rub back against its hood. Her body was made to overpower, and it rewards her when she does.

She has complete control over Van. How much pleasure he feels, how much pain. Even when he finishes slipping into the obedience place, the mindset of complete submission, she'll have control.

He's falling into it now. The obedience place. Subspace

_ If I broke his shoulder, he wouldn't feel it unless I worked hard to break him from it. Euphoria on the brain, fuzziness in the gaze, a little lolling of the tongue. I  _ see  _ you, little slave. Especially... _

_ The tongue. Well, let's see if my pussy will talk to me after this. Time to give him a chance. _

Slowly, Courtney releases him from her heavy embrace. Even from her killer grip on his cock. There's a long, sad moan from him, starting before she lets his prick go. The little whimpering cries tell her the whole story. He's ready.

_ Yes. Yes he is ready, isn't he? _

_ Van is whimpering at being parted from me, not from having his orgasm denied yet again. Broken! Ready to be moulded into the shape of a good slave. _

She doesn't even have to order him to lick her hand when she brings it up to his face. He even gets creative, her First Fucktoy. It's okay-- it's the obedient kind of creative, holding her wrist as best he may and doing his best to deepthroat it when he can't suck enough from her palm.

_ But I don't want him doing breathplay yet, either, _ Courtney chuckles.  _ Even if he can fellate my hand, he's not big enough.  _ Laughing, she takes her hand from him.

"I'll tell you when I want you choked," she chuckles, wiping her hand off on him. "Now. Down on your knees though, baby. No-- on your back. I want a cushion."

Yes. It's time. He doesn't even freeze, just lowers himself down, only wincing when she slaps her big, bouncy booty hard enough to have a sonic-boom thunderclap. It doesn't even sting  _ her _ , of course.

She plays with him. She owes her sex, but she wants to get him worrying. "Let's see. What use should I put your tongue to first? Ass?"

_ Van likes that-- and fears it. So noted! _ Her pain-slut groans, stretching out along the ground, hips thrusting up. Showing how much his dick yearns for him to service those perfect globes-- and every little muscle of him stiff and trembling with the fear of her butt. Of her power-dense weight, shoved down onto him, and complete humiliation his only option to get out.

She purrs slowly, tapping her chin, and pretending to consider the idea. "Nah, you'd get lost in between  _ these _ cheeks, honey." She lets a light smirk play over her features. "I thought you liked dark little caves and  _ cracks _ . But you might be able to find my pussy with a map."

"That all said." Now, Van freezes, his limbs not even writhing. Her voice gets a much deeper growl. "You'd better not need help getting oriented, little 'tyrant.' I'm going to start fucking your face, and I don't know when… or if… I'm gonna stop."

"Your… command… mistress!" It's just as sweet as when he named her totem-god. She's not going to let him know that yet, though.


	17. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught and dominated by Courtney Whitmore, powerful new Mega-Amazon-- and obligate dolorivore, poenavore, and coitivore-- Vandal Savage is being slowly crushed from the First Murderer and History's Greatest Tyrant into Van, her First Fucktoy and Courtney's Tastiest Slave.
> 
> He's also her only slave at this time, but he's had a lot of time to get good at things. Plus he can regenerate! She has high hopes for his... instruction.
> 
> Lying on the remnant floor quivering, while even her lightest footsteps shake what's left of the thin concrete layer between themselves and unmoving stone, he wriggles and shakes even when she's still. When she walks-- and threatens? He writhes.
> 
> Deliberately cruel both to feed herself and to help him transition into happiness in bondage, she swiftly tears apart his presumptions while making him love it.
> 
> It's so much fun!

Vandal Savage has at last found his true calling in life. He fights it, still, for many reasons. Not the least of which is habit.

Fifty thousand years of serving himself behind the thin pretense of correcting the world's disorder, has availed him little, and that, only occasionally. Still, as the corpse of the Age of Heroes cools, Vandal Savage will serve a noble purpose at last: fuck toy.

Tall for a human, he isn't quite two meters in height. Born at the tail end of the transition into the human world, one of the earliest examples of Cro-Magnon, he is what many call heavily built and broad of shoulder. Eighty kilograms, locked in at the prime of his hunter's life, almost none of it is fat.

Even metahumans have feared to fight him. Great legacies of powerful lineages have shuddered at the passing of his shadow. But now, he stands in the presence of a horny Hunter. One who means to have him, and use him for her own purposes.

He is tiny in the presence of Courtney Whitmore. She is a  _ giant _ . Exactly three meters tall, she doesn't just dwarf him in height. If he were grown to match her, eye to eye, both of his arms together would still be less massive than her arm. Even his legs would at best barely match her arms-- if her arms were at rest.

Her legs? Thicker than an up-scaled Vandal Savage's trunk. And to be honest, the idea that his legs  _ together _ would match a single arm is, at best, wishful thinking based on cross-sections.

The difference in height means that he could hide behind the rippling, chiseled majesty of her gorgeous quadriceps-- perhaps from some other Hunter to be warded off by his mistress; or perhaps simply to take his place worshiping those tightly striated masses, bulging like a series of hills run through with mighty rivers.

It would be a good place to practice the use of his tongue. Would have been. More practice--  _ much _ more practice, would have been a good idea.

Courtney's pussy is unsatisfied; her First Hunger but whetted by having him writhe upon her breast.  _ Enough for an orgasm, sure, but only just enough to get me started. _ Her blue eyes flash dangerously in the dark.

But he propitiates her, obeying her earlier command, lying flat on his back and waiting for her to decide her pleasure.

"Let's see," she says, feigning uncertainty and making a frown so gentle he can only mewl. "What use should I put your tongue to first? Ass?" She rolls the last word out, a long ah sound that makes his whole body shake-- and his cock throb like her fingers were around it again.

Shuddering and squirming around, Van wails out, "Your… command… mistress!" It's just as sweet as when he named her totem-god.

_ It's fun! _ _ He's so cute when he remembers he's helpless, and it's so much fun grinding that in. _

_ I love it. Showing him how much his dick yearns for him to service my perfect, perky globes-- and every little muscle of him stiff and trembling with the fear of my big… ol'... butt. Two sides of the same ass. Of my power-dense weight, shoved down onto him, and complete humiliation his only option to get out. _

Courtney watches him writhe. Self-analysis and bitch-analysis take only a few seconds. Mostly self.

_ Gotta save that for last. He's not prepared. I need to yank his fear out to the top a few more times. _

_ Then dunk his mind back into the trance state, the submission instinct. In and out-- then I can satisfy  _ all _ of me, and not break my toy too much to be of use. _

"Nah, you'd get lost in between  _ these _ cheeks, honey." A light smirk plays over her features. "I thought you liked dark little caves and  _ cracks _ . But you might be able to find my pussy with a map."

The fool relaxes. As though he is not to become intimately familiar with her ass, too. She fully intends to feel his face pressed into the soft plushness of her asscheeks.

There to be held by the merest flexing of her sculpted glutes.

"That all said."

Now Van freezes, his limbs not even writhing. Her voice gets a much deeper growl. "You'd better not need help getting oriented, little 'tyrant.' I'm going to start fucking your face, and I don't know when… or if… I'm gonna stop."

_ Yoink. Straight out of his euphoria, straight into the cold arctic chill of realization _ . The power of her quads panics and chills and shocks him all at once.

_ So delish.  _ Heavily panting, a ragged imitation of her pleasured grunts, he's left shuddering, fingers reaching out to grab at the concrete beneath him. His nails scratch and scrabble, chipping themselves on material Courtney's crumbling just by the impatient tapping of her toe.

_ It's a nice look for him; terror and rapture. _

"You know," she says thoughtfully. "Let's see if you  _ can _ impress me, Van."

Courtney's blue eyes and powerful charisma focus on him even tighter. "You were showing off some interesting moves before the Pulse. How much can you put out?"

It is, in many ways, a test.  _ What will allowing him-- ordering him-- to use his powers do? How far can I push you, babe? _

It is quite a push, it seems, Van is all but paralyzed once again, palms flat against the concrete. His only motions are a heavy swallow and the shuddering, terrified breaths that leave his otherwise still body shaking.

And makes the precum-dribbling tip of his shaft bounce back and forth, waving an invisible white flag of surrender..

Honesty has him, for the moment. "I… can increase my strength-- speed-- resistance to damage, but, it's not my specialty," he says slowly, eyes flicking back and forth as he stares into the nothing of the dark cavern ceiling.

"Mmm?"

Eventually, Van just sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't know how well it will translate," he admits. She makes some soothing noises that seem to leave him simply awaiting her pleasure.

_ Hmm. No specialty. Of course, since he probably just sort of stumbled on ki-focus accidentally over the years, _ she thinks,  _ he doesn't have a specialty... _

_ He can be shaped. Maybe my little Van can learn some cock-growth tantra, and actually satisfy when I introduce his prick to its proper owner: Courtney-cunny. _

But for now, that's only happy planning. "A good answer," Courtney says slowly, rubbing her hands back and forth over her sex in slow, appeasing strokes.

"Gonna think about it." She bites her lip and lets out a happy moan, then purrs, "Tell you when we're ready, mm?"

Her pussy isn't a passive partner as she cups her palms around the damp, drenched heat of her lips, tugging and stroking swiftly. The little clenches she feels back, squeezing impatiently, tells her that her body and her Hunger are prepared to wait and plan. And that's' awesome!

_ Because that's a hopeful sensation, indeed; if I keep feeding on lust and pain like this, maybe I'll be able to think straight for more than a few moments at a time. _

More in thought than present but certainly not  _ lost _ , Courtney squeezes back against her instinctive trembles, moaning, "Mm." Her fingers quicken, and she pants faster.

A sudden, piping cry is accompanied by the titty-bouncing shudder of her whole upper bod. Her abs tense rapidly, jutting in and out. Behind her already wobbling boobs, her huge pecs thump back and forth in time with further moaning noises of please.

To Van's uncomprehending stare, she answers, "Oh, yeah-- tasty answer, too.  _ Mmhmm. _ Just the way to please: complete, truthful, and  _ useful _ . Remember that."

Courtney's tongue swirls around her lips again. "Are you re-ea-eady, Van?" she coos.  _ Of course, it doesn't really matter. _

Thud. Thud. Thud.

She's pacing around him now. Taking her time. Her steps are rhythmic, undisturbed by her self-appreciation.

Van swallows heavily as comprehension thunders through him with her footsteps. "I'm n-n-not," he admits. "B-b-but that-t-t doesn't m-m-matter, does it?"

His stutters come not from his omnipresent fear-- but simply from how hard he's being smacked around by the mere resonance of her thudding gait. Little motions tense up in the cords of muscles drawing out from the outline of her groin, tightly yanking her quads below as she rubs over her blonde mound.

"Nah," she agrees. "Just giving you a warning, little cutie."

For all it's making Van shake as though on the ring of fire, her steps are perfectly controlled-- for reasons of her own. Even her body's strength is under precise control. The whirl of her multithreaded thoughts lets her play with her victim and control her anatomy down to the minutiae without missing a step

Control. Courtney is in total command of self and plaything both.  _ Which makes this so much fun! _

"Ooh," she moans. "I know  _ I'm  _ ready, though."

That her readiness is all that  _ should _ matter goes unspoken. It simply is. She flits her gaze over to focus on said toy, and pants again.

Now Van is caught-- lying prone, still shaking, even when she's not stepping. When she does?  _ Writhing _ .

He's got this terrified naked squirm that just lights up her day. Her smile broadens, canines gleaming like fangs. She chews a bit on her lower lip, then continues circling him as he awaits the next round of ravishment and rapture.

_ Fuck. _ Out of her Van's sight, she chews on her lower lip, considering him, letting his helplessness stiffen her nipples and get her big, bouncy butt wriggling. _ Is there anything so sexy as an obedient boytoy? _

_ I almost want to just grab him and fuck him and squeeze him with my thighs until his body just... gives... up. _

Courtney controls the shuddering response completely, keeping the rest of her muscles calm and steady.  _ Not yet, _ she promises herself.  _ I want to break his  _ brain  _ a little more. _

So she sways and swaggers onwards, her breasts bobbing back and forth in a swaying of their own, just a little out of step with her hips' swoosh.

And in step with her stepping. Thudding. The reverberations don't just wobble her tits around, nope.

Each footfall has enough echo to wobble her poor Van about on the concrete. She doesn't have to pick him up to knock him down. Her feet do that without even touching him.

_ It's for his own good. Each smack reminds him of my power-- this isn't even a punishment, just… pain. Because it feeds me. _

_ And that's what he's for. _

Along the way, she takes care of herself-- just a little, just her fingers testing the very edges of her sex with warm caresses.

_ That's the plan. _ Keeping the focus on her pussy, and its needs, not showing off to trance him again too soon.  _ Too much oomph in my boom, too much power shown off will just leave him a puddle. _

So mostly, Courtney keeps her body at a minimum of flexion. A mega-amazon minimum, but still, a minimum. Only the big cords of her sartorii flex a bit more than the steps require.

Mostly because of that extra-wide swagger they add to said Van-bouncing steps.

They're her big bad girl muscles-- pumping her thighs apart for this biggest, muscliest bad girl. The hawser-sized lengths are tough and smooth, connecting along the outside edges and grooves of her thighs. They, and their consort muscles, add lovely trembles where her hips meet her thighs, but still, she moves on in steady, slow, steps.

_ No true flexion, no true expansion-- yet. I may be controlling myself… for now... but I can feel the delicious burn of strength against strength here. _

_ Of holding myself from making the big, happy stomps I'd really like to. But not here. Not with such a weak little prone partner... _

It's a delicious kind of heat, pressure building, like it's a cascade ready to run, a flood of flex ready to flow out down her already sculpted quads. Which is really the point, isn't it? Control-- and muscle.

Then using them both to make the fun last longer-- and go further.

"So," she purrs. Van swallows, wafting in and out of euphoric warmth.

"Let's talk about your ki. I want you to remember that it's  _ mine _ , just like you. You use it how I say, and only how I say."

He nods in short jerks. "As you command," he whimpers, struck.

No more First Murderer here. Just Courtney's First Fucktoy.  _ For now; his ego still regenerates. _

_ But this will help keep him that way. _

"Good boy." Her bitch moans at the statement, his nipples hardening and his belly spasming.  _ So fucking easy! _

Amused, she ticks her thumb against her fingers, counting off the points. "Any enhancement of your strength is just going to be wasting energy, Van," she says with a little chuckle, slowly moving towards her prey..

The dark doesn't hide Van's reactions to her presence. The beauty of her. The sound of her.

All of her.

He can smell her arousal. His mind is full of her muscles and curves, devouring his focus, forever. It makes him feel her strength all the harder as it makes the ground slap his back, bounce his skull.

And he can hear her dismiss even his most secret weapons. Turn his arrogance, his holdout superiority, into mush.  _ Better your pride than your brains, sweetie. _

"Your speed? Hah. I doubt you can reach vibrator levels."

Courtney sniffs, her dismissiveness entirely unfeigned. "But your ability to resist  _ damage _ , now… If your pretty little head doesn't go pop while I'm getting a little satisfaction and letting  _ loose _ a bit-- that, that I value."

A brilliant smile turns wickeder and wickeder; her head tilts at him, left brow raised. She waits a bit. Lets him feel her senses, the gigantic field of her perception, narrow down him.

Like a lens beneath a shining star.

"I might even stop at the edge of pain. After all, your jaw isn't as much use to me… broken. You remember… Right, Van?"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her feet slowly shake their little patch of ruins, concrete dust flying everywhere.

The paralysis of dread breaks, and big, bad Vandal Savage lets out a terrified gasp "Y… y…" he keeps babbling, remembering as commanded.

"Say it," Courtney purrs. She can't help but make a fond smile, looking at him hammering his elbows and feet into the ground, arching his back as he panics.

As the memory alone, such a tiny percentage of his life, looms larger than the millennia before. So as she raises a foot, and her mind speeds up, she suppresses the urge to tell him how cute he is-- for the moment.

It wouldn't help, and besides… The sound of his screamed "Yes!" seems to go on forever, a perfect background accompaniment to her lightning-fast contemplation. So very, very tasty.

_ His mind can't handle it,  _ she realizes.  _ Not just how much more powerful I am, either. He just can't handle the multitasking. _

She considers Van. Debates.  _ On the one hand, it's shattering the edges of his mind faster. _

While Courtney's now hyper-efficient brain is analyzing him entirely, developing sciences she never studied to understand his body and hers, applying the same to the cave, the monsters at the periphery, and thousands of other topics…

_ Van is stuck, just switching between trying to escape, trying to stay like a good pet, trying to summon ki because his survival instinct is screaming for it, and trying to find some way to propitiate me. _

Courtney has a little sympathy. Very little. She does remember being that limited-- of sorts.

Because with her "mere" double-decades--hell! with less than that!-- she had to do at least as much.  _ Of course, between the best uses of the Cosmic Staff, and my acrobatic fighting style, I had to manage multitasking. I had to be better, to get any respect. _

There's no bitterness to the thought. Not now. Not after the Pulse.

After all, now?  _ Now, I embody superiority. Not a bad trade-up. _

_ Is mercy appropriate? _ Her consideration of him takes so little time as to have no drops of mercy for him in the time spent thinking. Her sadism Drive is decently fed-- but she can still gorge.

It's what Van is  _ for _ .

The glint in his eye reminds her that he's still got enough independence to be angry.  _ And there's the answer.  _ It's so brilliantly clear to her.

The periodic tensing of his neck, the restraint as he tries not to glare back-- there's definitely much of History's Greatest Tyrant about him once more.

_ No. Ruthlessness now feeds me better. And it will better teach him that hope is not for revenge-- it's for pleasing me and earning my favor. _

The surface of her thoughts synchronize with a speed Van can comprehend. "Good," she says, deliberately sweetening her voice. "Concentrate on that memory."

She pushes against his personality, bringing his ire up only to smack it down.

"So you'll be focusing, right?" Courtney coos. "I only want to hurt you so much, Van. So you'll try hard for me, right?"

He shudders and, tears of frustration glistening along his eyes.

"That's it," she says, and begins to step on. "Can you  _ do  _ it, though? Reinforce yourself while meditating on my pussy?"

She smirks. As she walks, she gives a happy, almost hopeful little chirp. "Can you manage both together?"

It's just  _ so easy. _

Just that little chirpiness in her voice, and he's left nearly as tense as her skin when she's relaxed.

It's ridiculous-- and delicious. She can't help but laugh a little at it all.

Her foot falls, shaking his tiny body all about again.  _ I love his tininess. Now I see why Al enjoyed his powers so much. _

He'll never realize how fast the judgment was deliberated, sealed, and handed down. Courtney's huge ass sways with each swaggered step, the quake-triggering lightness adding an extra wriggle and jiggle to the rise and fall of its beautiful teardrop shape. The judgment falls, and the sentence is delivered-- straight to his brain, again and again.

His pupils are dilating again. She's already cruelly forced him into the panic and away from euphoria… But the steady rhythm of her walk and her abuse of him is humiliating him back down beneath the subspace trance.

It's all so clear.

The endorphin releases. The physiological cues. His pulse, his pupils, his sweat-- everything about him is an open book.

_ Yes, _ her senses tell her.  _ Yes, he's starting to react less like his limbs are in pain, and more like they're so full of my will that he can hardly move them. Endpoint is the same, but the effect on his mind... _

Dunk. Sploosh! There Vandal Savage goes, back completely into "serve Courtney, feel gooooood" mode.

Van mode. 

Each time Courtney forces him out and back in, she chips a few more years of his ego away. Takes away a little bit more of his sense of being the only true adult. But that's the long term goal.

Like taking him to a pet-sized gym-- trying to get him more than those wimpy little seventy-six centimeter thighs. He's less than half her height, but that's no excuse for having  _ that  _ much less than half her muscle circumference.

_ I'll be taking him to the gym to get me some thighs to bounce off of when I'm enjoying crushing that little cock of his in my slit. It's all of a kind. I'm slapping away his self-importance for more than just removing his offensive arrogance. _

Courtney doesn't bother controlling the blue-hot flare, deep in her eyes, as the results take hold in her tiny little bitch.  _ I'm doing it to make him crave my dominance, to make him addicted to being my subby. Chains in the brains! _

Thud. Her foot falls again, and she's nearly to Van's head again as he writhes on the floor. Each struggling wriggle is slower and weaker than the last. Then, when she judges it right…

She gives him an extra little show to submerge his mind completely. After all, her immense, fat tits have been shaking the whole time too. Without deliberate interference from her, they don't usually stop until  _ long  _ after she does.

So as his eyes are open but his mind is full of images of her merciless thighs squeezing all around him, his vision is taken over by two huge pillowy expanses. The smooth curves bob and bounce, jiggling out a unified cadence. Marching to her time.

Just like his skin did with each step Courtney took. Just like the little pools of his pre on his belly and thighs, the ripples all timed together. Even his balls bouncing as they filled and readied for a climax not to be permitted.

All of it just reflections of her breasts' jiggling.

"Van." Her voice rolls over him, slow and soft and worse than any beating she could administer. "You remember I told you to hug me, or to fight me?"

He shudders, but the euphoria has him. It's a long, almost pleasured groan that Van responds with. "Yes…"

There are tears, but only from before, falling away from his face. His muscles-- rather cut for a Cro-Magnon-- clench, like a full body spasm, trying to imitate even the weakest muscle in her  _ toes _ .

He fails, of course. Every muscle he has which can be flexed simultaneously is squeezing as hard as it can. There's even little striations around the edges, where the different flexion is pulling him in different directions.

But it is all a failure, unworthy of even the slightest effort of her  _ pinky  _ toe.

She smiles broadly. "You'll need  _ lots _ of ki to keep up with my minimum pussy pleasure," she comments, letting the lilting purr in her husky voice knead the trance deeper into his mind.

"But it occurs to me. You've probably learned tantra… and I've only let you cum once, my pretty bitch." The smile on her  _ then _ is so wicked it nearly has its own gravitational pull.

Nearly enough to swallow him whole, just from the mirth of it.

Trembling, his eyes close; a wince. Briefly. Very briefly; all it takes from her is a dissatisfied rumble to pop them back open.

"Don't deny it," she commands, and he does not. "If you didn't know tantra, your nut would have been busted a while back."

It silences him, and she leaves him, staring up at her cleft and breasts in absolute, total fixation.

"So. You have  _ plenty _ of juice you're not giving me, Van. That was like my first order."

More whimpers escape Van's throat, but she sees a soft glow blurring his tense skin begin, lightly. Her advanced senses tell her that he's obeying. Starting, at last, to  _ understand _ .

Smirking, Courtney nods. "Good bitch," she tells him enthusiastically. Almost chirpy again.

"Keep that up. I  _ want  _ you tough _. _ Tough enough to serve me until I cream on your face."

He shudders, but nods, still holding on to the energy.

Courtney takes a deep sniff, her huge chest heaving and wriggling as she tastes the air. " _ Mm _ . Gonna cream on your tongue. Specifically, you gotta get me to squirt, wimp."

A deep laugh follows, assessing his chances. Tilting her head to the left and letting her long blonde hair cascade over her huge, bulging left delt, she drawls, "I really do hope you have some sort of technique  _ other _ than adorable thrashing and screaming."

Clearing her throat, Courtney adds, "Mind you, li'l weasel, you  _ do _ have the sexiest writhing and whimpering I've ever seen." Her left eyebrow quirks up, but her horny smile is still broad and bright.

"Otherwise," she continues, "You get those hands  _ up  _ on my thighs. My ass, if you can reach it-- probably not, but you  _ will  _ try."

Keeping her eyes fixed on the sudden panic in his, she starts to squat down, as though she was going to mount his head then and there. She makes a show of it, of course. Rolling her heavyset shoulders and breathtakingly broad brood-bearing hips opposite each other, twisting her titanically shredded torso this way and that.

"You can grab," Courtney growls, starting to move back up to her full height, "You can caress, you can even pound at me while I choke off your air supply."

The vicious focus of her perception and personality lasers in on him. "But if I feel like you're holding back... I will be  _ extremely _ disappointed in you."

Van seems to realize he doesn't want to disappoint her even a little. His wriggling and writhing gets her pretty gushy right then and there. She's struck by the fact that if he had come to her as she was before, without the history, she'd have found him handsome. Impressive, even.

But.

But she is power. He is prey. Almost gently, she explains.

"You're not submitting to you," she says with a firm rumble, quiet but penetrating. "To your needs, or to how you'd desire things."

Her finger illustrates, pointing at his forehead first, then his heart, and now his balls. "You're not submitting how you  _ think _ I'd want you to-- because the only thing you are is an  _ object _ . You do what I tell you, what I want, when I tell you."

A smile brightens Courtney's face, and she reaches down between her thighs, petting her clit. "Or… Mmm!"

It doesn't take her long to get herself off again. Just some focused rubbing of her forefinger and middle, circling her clit while her ass tightens. Her muscles clench.

" _ Or… _ Oh fuck yes the things I'll do to… ahhhhh! The things…  _ FUCK! _ "

The force of Courtney's voice alone batters his tiny body as though she lightly tickled everywhere on his skin. Well,  _ very _ lightly tickled indeed. There's just a raindrop pattern of bruises, not broken bones.

A few fractures, maybe. Quickly healed. He knows better than to scream yet.

When she's done, she plants both hands on her extraordinary hips, pale and smooth and magnificent. "Or I will, indeed, harm you. Am I  _ clear _ , Van?"

Van's shudders. "I don't even know what will please you, Courtney," he protests. His hands come up, as though he wanted to look at them, and then fall down.

"You keep changing," he groans-- whines, really, the agony from watching her and hearing her and feeling her contempt wreaking havoc in his poor little mind. "Shifting course… I.."

"it's all the same course," Courtney coos back at him, as though explaining it to-- well. What he is.

A very dumb little man, whom she has to  _ elaborate _ with. "All the same will.  _ Mine. _ "

The snarl in her voice makes his face freeze into a terrified rictus. "If I see something I'm intrigued by, I'll take it. If I want to play tie-up, I'll tell you to rip those silly clothes up to make the ropes."

Van's hands clench, fingers flexing. The enormity of her smile feeds on him again. They both know what would happen if he was so weak as to try to grab for his clothes-- even to reach in their direction.

To try to protect them. She brings the powerful mass of her fist up to her lips, a slight pump making her forearm and bicep flex out like the Earth itself was giving her extra gains just for the occasion. She takes her time, reminding him in her silence.

She even licks over her thumbnail, then shrugs, moving her hand away.

Her grin broadens, and she ticks off the last points on her fingers. "I've called you a pain-slut. I've told you to lie down. I've told you I want your hands on me. Which means…"

Confused, millennia of certainty reacting to the immense power and presence of Courtney Whitmore, Van gibbers, trying words and not finding them. His heels dig into the concrete, scraping themselves almost-- but not quite raw.

"Say it."

He moans, stuttering, trying.

Failing.

"Say it!"

At last, Van chokes off a sob and moans, "It means you see what pain does to m…" Confusion strikes.

"No… What have you done? It wasn't like this before… I don't…"

She's tired of his babbles. "Of course your inner pain slut wasn't out before, Van." Further confusion builds up in him.

A wagging finger stops him cold. Courtney laughs. "But I could yank it out of anyone, you see… And all your vaunted years just make it more fun peel your ego apart! Speaking of…"

She descends to him and his world nearly ends in thunder.

_ Boom _ . Her naked bitch is bounced clean off the floor, several centimeters up when she drops her right knee down, just by his head. He howls again as his skull cracks and his spine goes crunch.

_ I may be just a  _ bit  _ of a big girl. _


	18. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumpf!
> 
> Courtney Whitmore has become a three-meter tall post-superhuman Hunter. And she just sat on Vandal Savage's face. He'll survive.
> 
> She was pretty careful about that. She's not entirely careful with how she uses her massive muscles to fuck his face up against her pussy, but he'll survive that too. As long as he obeys.
> 
> Which he's getting pretty good at-- if not as fast as she'd like. Of course, to the angrier, Hungrier part of her... That would have been "before the Pulse."
> 
> Using pure muscularity, carefully contained strength, and perfect, all-scale control, Courtney both lifts him up from the ground along a series of bulges-- and uses those bulges to cram him up... back and forth...
> 
> The only thing he has to be is a tongue, really.
> 
> A tongue, and just enough of a fraction of a person to be used.

Vast and vastly beautiful, the former Stargirl, now gigantic, titanically lusty and titanically sadistic Hunter named Courtney Whitmore continues her project to destroy the ego of Vandal Savage. Or at least-- to grind it so far into powder that only scraps remain.

Scraps she can melt and reforge into a will that never even thinks of escape because his very goals in life are bound to her desires, her needs, and especially her pussy.

Which at the moment, is not even a full meter above his head. Three meters tall and built like a muscle fetishist's last, dying dream, she's just slammed her body down over his head. She's down on just one knee, which has left quite the crater in the floor. Her other leg is still up, in a crouch…

And her sex is drenching his face.  _ Exactly why I wanted him lying on his back in the first place. Not just 'cos he looks even cuter when he's stunned and helpless. _

Which the First Murderer definitely is now: helpless beneath her, stunned by the force of her slam. The force of her knee hitting the ground knocked him up and down from where she had him prone-- but it's not just bouncing his head off the ground that's left him adorably dazed.

Courtney is still naked, still hungry, and she's incredibly turned on by just beating him with the mere echo of her footstep. Nearly brought to climax by how badly the proximate crash of her knee smacks him around.  _ I'm so hungry. _

_ So very, very hungry. I don't know if I'll ever need food again, but my drives are always so ravenous! I can barely feel the earlier meals of my masturbation and fucking with him. _

_ I need so much pain and so much sex… So much! _ That's what her toy is for, though.

"Van," Courtney moans insistently. "Look up. Look up now!"

He looks up, helplessly. Mostly looking in about the right direction. Kinda. By how badly his pupils are tracking and how vague his eyes look, his vision must still be pretty blurry from the concussion.

The one she gave him just by settling a thigh by his head. As he heals, she strokes a finger down over the long, corded muscles flowing down the thigh in question. Just a series of strokes, petting her adductors.

_ It feels so good, skin to skin. _ Her skin, her strength, her insanely sensitive tactile enhancements All that power, able to smack her toy around just by dropping her weight down around him.  _ I don't even have to touch him! _

Courtney almost gets distracted by her new powers. Being able to flex and move individual segments of her quads is really fun. When her finger touches a discrete muscle head, she can make it bulge out, all on its lonesome.

_ Whump-crunch! _

Courtney snorts and shakes her head, pitiless as he cries in agony. "Oh, the howling again, Van?" she asks. "You know that's just making me  _ Hungry _ , right?"

_ And it is, too. The more he looks and sounds and  _ is _ such a vulnerable little puppet, the more my Drives scream, "Hurt the bitch!" _

"Look, I know, having the medialis starting to ripple there knocked your poor, sore,  _ little _ head around." She sighs, rubbing her hand up and down over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "But honestly, it's making my not-stomachs growl to devour you more, Van."

Courtney grins, and flexes her other thigh,  _ hard. _ "It's not like I have my other thigh down there to start a crush yet!" Crushing his head or not, the immense and immensely curved multibarrel muscularity and interstellar thunderstorm-thigh thiccness puts on quite the show!

Gurgled whimpers are his only response.

"Tell me," Courtney growls. "Tell me you at least appreciate the view, little man. It's not like I'm actually trying to hurt you… again, yet."

He cycles though a bunch of words she doesn't know.  _ Different languages, but I'm getting the gist. _ "There, see?" she says with a soothing softness.

Her fingers stroke lightly over his head, a gentle temple massage to see him through the healing. "Awww. Much more polite; much less Hungry Hungry Hunter."

He's still really confused, but it's a start. Further debate gets her clit throbbing.  _ If he's too weak, if his shielding field is that inadequate to just a bit of bonk, should I bring him to paradise? _

_ Aka my pussy on his face with her thighs almost too tight for him to breathe... _

_\-- but I'm so_ _horny_! Courtney has to confront the fact that no matter how good her hands are, her Hunger wants her to fuck someone else. _And the someone I have is Van_.

Who could really be doing more to show willing.

"Heal faster, little pain-slut," she snarls. "You've got tantra-- use it for  _ me _ . After all… I gave it to you, didn't I?"

There's a little victory then. A long, drawn out whimper in the affirmative. This time, though?

_ A bigger victory! _ Van's eyes don't close. Not even in concentration.

Energy saturates Courtney's wimp, infusing him, speeding the healing and preparing him for what there is to come.

Van is, in a word,  _ trapped _ . Eyes flick back and forth, watching her finger now. At first, in fear; now, in lustful awe as she shifts between the various anchors of her quads, flexing out  _ just _ those bits even harder.

"There we go," she whispers. "You are starting to understand my desires-- to  _ feel _ them."

Confused splutters answer her, which is not an upgrade.

But that's okay-- she can demonstrate. "Pay attention, Van. There will be a quiz."

He's about to protest when Courtney slams her other knee down towards the ground, barely remembering to stop before she hits it.  _ It's a good thing, too-- I'm not sure that it'd be only the  _ concrete _ that would have been turned to powder _ .

Still, the air pressure alone makes the floor crack and fracture-- sizzles, even-- all around, including over Van's back as he's tossed up into the air again.

She's got him now, though. Her knees tuck in as he falls; nine point eight meters per second squared is no faster than his running would be, compared to her! Lucky toy that he is, while he's being thrashed about, his view is full of her biggest muscles-- and her dripping snatch.

Of course Courtney soaks his face again. It's hers to mark. Quadriceps that could end his suffering-- or Doomsday's-- close in so fast it buffets his head with turbulence.

She bounces him off the banded secondary quadriceps, her hard-flexed muscles giving his freshly-healed head a minor concussion despite his ki-boosted resistance.

It's all one motion, really. Bomp, bounce, squeeze... Catch.

As for Van, his mind is overthrown even more than his body. Drowning in the rapturous trance, he gasps with pleasure, screams with pain, and regenerates to match her motion. It's a nice steady tempo.

Casual-- at least for her.

_ I'm pretty grateful to that weird meteor thing of his, _ she giggles to herself.  _ I'd have to be so much more careful and slow if he didn't heal up quick! _

_ Grateful enough to ride his face-- but not yet. _ Fondly, Courtney reaches in between her thighs, flexing her forearm against her clit while she ruffles his Courtney-cum soaked head.

"Damn, Van!" she says, fondness breaking her sternness yet again. "Even with  _ me _ of all people kneeling, your little head isn't big enough to let you get to my pussy."

Giggling, she adds, "Of course, it'd take like four or five copies of your skull to just fit the width of my thigh. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you can't make it all the way up."

Van is drooling, his head healing all the faster now. All of that energy tapped from denying himself an orgasm is turned to better hone his body as a fucktoy for her. He swallows deeply and pants, "Courtney-- mistress-- please!"

_ At least he's obedient.  _ His hands are reaching around as much of her huge thighs as his poor arms can manage-- not much, even with him swinging them around backwards and below. Mostly he's slapping at the hard-flexed thigh-muscles, as though he could tap out.

_ Nothing doing, bub. You're done when I say you're done. Yeesh, I can just imagine the bawling if I did walk away and stop fucking him. _

It's a good thing Van's pain feeds her Drives. His whining certainly isn't dimmed as she holds him fast. She has him utterly caught, held between the bulging, tightened-hard medialis heads of her thighs.

Muscles and muscle-parts he's only recently learned to fear and love. But he's whining half as much in confusion as he'd be if she left.  _ Ungrateful little nitwit. _

It leaves Courtney a bit grumpy.  _ Clearly he doesn't love my poor thunder thighs-- heh, thunder  _ storm _ thighs and then some-- well enough. Guess I'll just have to teach him. _

Shaking her head at Van's gasping cries, flailing fingers, and too-easily bruised cheeks, she asks, "Oh, come on-- are you telling me you'd prefer cold, hard concrete to my warm skin?" Of course, her skin is much harder than concrete-- or Kryptonians.

It's enough to make a girl feel unwanted… or rather, unfulfilled.  _ Honestly, though _ .  _ Such a wimp! _

Curling his arms tighter and tighter over the surface of her thighs, he gurgles. "I… it  _ hurts _ but--" 

Stillness. A hostile, self-destructive stillness, but stillness. Her jaw drops a little as she moans with pleasure, covering his face in her honey and her heat.

_ There it is… _ The pain abruptly leaves him, and she watches, fascinated, as his body tenses against itself. Watches nerve fight nerve and flesh fight flesh as he tries not to cum just from his own realization.

Just from realizing that Vandal Savage has been reborn to be her slave.

"Oh, fuck, Courtney," he moans in praise. "I want your legs, I want your legs, please, please let me have them…"

The corners of Courtney's lips twitch. Tears return, but they amuse her this time. "But… but they're killing me!"

_ Heh. Legs man, is my Van? A girl might feel like her guns are a bit neglected, but that's okay. It's my fault, after all. _

A smug smile plays across her lips as she considers his panicked begging.  _ I did just make his whole world into legs. He should appreciate the world I give him, shouldn't he? _

"Mm," she groans, and swipes her middle finger over his forehead. She can taste it from here, but everything-- sight, touch, even scent, sort of-- has been so much better…

Closer.

Courtney brings her fingertip up to her lips, sucking on the tip to taste her femmecum mixed with his sweat and tears. "I make you even more delicious, baby. So you're a bit scared of my legs?"

"They're--"

"Killing you?" she interrupts. "You said."

"Me, I dunno. Looks more like you're having more problems avoiding little death than actual." He ceases his whinging in an instant.

She's right, after all. For all Van's howling, his cock keeps splurting more and more precum. Coating his shaft and leaving him ready for the use she will put him-- later. 

Which shows her that quite a bit of him  _ does _ appreciate the world she's put him under.

_ Besides, I have to be fair.  _ Much of her disagrees, but still.  _ I'm doing quite well appreciating how buff and pretty my own arms are, thanks. _

Caressing, even. Her already long, blonde hair went into overdrive with the Pulse, and it keeps falling everywhere as she moves. Each time she pulls it back into place, threading it through her fingers, she's brought up close and personal with her gigantic biceps again.

It's a bit of a relief, anyway.  _ I know so much better how to tongue a bicep right. And ooh, my triceps are bulgy enough that I can almost-- woo! _

With her muscles in pleasure-pumped hyper-expansion, Courtney can actually just barely reach around with her tongue to reach the other side of her upper arms.

Another gift of the Pulse.  _ Let's hear it for flexibility, too! _ Despite her vastness and the heft of her muscles, her shoulders and her arms work and move in smooth, graceful synergy.

_ If I was flexing too much, sure, I'd go back around and the bulk would push off bulk. Then, I might not be able to reach. _ But she is obscenely bulging out like the nightmares and dreams of the Mr. and Ms. Olympia competitors all combined.

And it's not even a real pump.

Biology works out in her favor-- again. So, as her little fucktoy is cradled beneath her lap-- the natural habitat of a face made for being sat upon-- she's got plenty of room to lick and kiss herself.

Which of course, gets "poor" Van covered in more of her juices from above as she squeezes him helplessly up towards the pussy that's half-drowning him.

He's held in a sort of sleeping/bed position there. Instead of pillows, he's got long, leggy Hunter-gams, and said legs' huge, heavy Hunter- _ muscles _ , but she's not exactly going to be listening to any complaints.  _ Not after he begged for these legs. _

"You know, if I wait for you to get in place," she says thoughtfully, "We're both going to get bored." She smiles. "Do you trust my power over you, Van?"

"Yes, Mistress."

  
She didn't give him permission to call her that, but meh.

_ It's still nice. _ "Good. I will hurt you, but I'm not going to harm you."

Courtney groans, moving her hands and stroking herself to his sudden extra stiffness. "You can scream," she growls, "But stay still."

So she starts to use that super-fine personal control. The medialis heads of her quads bulge further, pushing him up along her thighs lengths. "Er-- yes, mistre-- AUGH!"

Van makes use of her permission immediately.

_ I knew the transition was going to be harder. Oh well. _ As she extends the medialis as far as she can without harming him more deeply, she 'flicks' the flexion upwards, switching him to the next tightly-striated region of the overall quadriceps.

In effect, Courtney is pulling her slave's head up along her legs with devastating casualness. Without even bothering to look directly at him, nor to touch him with so much as a fingertip.  _ Which is all I'd need to lift him, but this is better. _

She's got a lot to do, no matter  _ how _ much her throbbing First and Second Drives are roaring at her.  _ Lets me get my hair in order. I need a hair band. _

She considers how tough her body has become.  _ Maybe Diana would let me 'borrow' her Lasso? I mean, elastic isn't going to work. _

_ Look at how much just my skin is doing to poor Van!  _ Every little shifting flex is pretty rough on the back of his head, cramming him along more and more of her bad girl muscles, bulging and huge despite not being in use directly. They make a decent brace for the incredibly hard and sculpted muscles doing the "work" of ratcheting Van up, and up, and up.

_ Oh well. I doubt he minds, and if he does, well… heh. Fuck him. _

More of her cunnyhoney falls across his face.  _ Heh. I was already planning to. _

_ He does seem to mind the sheer  _ pressure  _ I'm putting around his head-- but, well. See first 'if.' _ She snorts as he presses his wimpy little biceps and forearms against her huge quads.

"Mm, that's good, baby," she coos as he flails.  _ It's time for a little encouragement. Given how hard he's trying! _

From his point of view, he's desperately trying to push himself a bit above her thigh's killer embrace. Nothing. Doing.

The press of her quads don't just support him; they're pushing in around his chin and the top of his skull, keeping him locked. Right where  _ she  _ wants him. Which is the only thing that matters.

"Please!" he cries, but Courtney sniffs, and he quiets down to little grunts and groans along the way.

"You're enjoying it." she points out. "How hard is your cock right now?"

So hard it hurts so good, it seems, by the defeated wail and the pulse of endorphins Van's body makes.

_ I'm enjoying this all, too. _ Her bouncy butt quivers a bit, and she parts her lips for another air-kissing moan. The wriggle of her rump travels down, down, strictly controlled. She tosses her hands back through her hair, pausing only to kiss her own bulging biceps and lick along the banded contouring.

But the wriggle goes on.

Where the wriggle meets her thighs, it calms, somewhat. Closing the gap between them would be… unfortunate, after all.

So she just uses another little pair of flexes. One from each side; the quadricep head inserting behind her knee on both sides bulge, grinding under his captured skull and tilting it up. And yet…

Courtney's yet to hear an answer to her question.

_ You know, he really is rude, _ she thinks. She's doing all the work, yet for some odd reason, Van seems to have a problem answering her.

Chewing on her lower lip and starting to grind her hips forward and back, she does know the answer…

But it's his duty. His purpose for existing in  _ her _ world. Obedience.

So she snarls, " _ Answer _ me, bitch!" Courtney's muscles don't quite get harder, but they shift and play around him faster.

She doesn't let up. She never lets up. She keeps hauling him up along the long, slightly smooth bad girl muscle of each thigh, winding across her inner thigh on its trip up from the knee to her hip.

Courtney remembers looking them up on wikipedia, the sartorius muscles, when her anatomy textbook was just too arcane. The longest muscles of the primary, human muscle groups, it's fairly weak. Said weakness is relative to the strength of, say, a human, versus, say, a Hunter like her, of course.

They're used to push her thighs apart.

So both are mostly resting now, as she uses tightness and tautness and tightening to squeeze her legs closer together. To fill her pussyjuice-coated Van's vision with more and more muscle, and more and more pain. Not too close, and so controlled over individual muscle  _ striations _ that the bands themselves pump out and relax to push him along and up.

_ Hell, he gets to feel the bad girls, too! _ Every time she parts her thighs even slightly, those "weak" muscles give him a dope slap to the back of the head. _ It's so much fun! _

_ I'm really enjoying this, _ she thinks, surprised. Van can't possibly give her a real workout, but forcing herself to exert this much control requires effort, even for her.

Not to mention it makes her  _ gorgeous _ new hiney bounce and shake each time his head gets shoved up a bit, then caught in between taut, invulnerable thigh-skin again.

It feels so good she forgives his delayed answering.  _ To be fair, even more than how wet his screams make me, I have to admit-- he's finally doing some of the work. _

For one thing, there are his  _ squirms! _ Her inner thighs were always "happy Courtney" areas, whether playing alone or directing a boyfriend. But having Vandal Savage's neatly trimmed beard and wild hair rubbed against the chiseled definition while he screams and squirms, well!

That earns him a lot of cunny approval, all over his face.

In between the writhes and the howls, Van seems to finally focus on her question. Whimpers finally become words. Words adrift in babble, but still.

"Harder…" he moans. "Harder than I-- I've never thought this was possible!"

Groaning, she takes it as a compliment. It earns him further flexing. Another bulging layer of strength, pushing in on his skull from the sides-- and mostly from below.

Van's world is full of feminine muscle, of curvy-strong and striated thighs-- and the steady drip and gush of her arousal. The more she flexes her muscles around his head, even just these tiny bits under her complete control-- the more she wants to really, truly,  _ squeeze _ .

No squeezes yet-- just interrogation. "It's not just my pussy. Should I be concerned about your  _ focus _ ?"

Interrogation and tightening of already taut muscles, expansion of her base mass starting to almost grow her muscles around his head. All the while, her slit adds its opinion, drip-drip-dripping more of her heady scent onto his face. Her purr makes them both vibrate.

Flex, relax, flex, relax. Wriggling all the while, Courtney doesn't bother to wait while he answers. She's got so much muscle to use on him, and he's got such a tiny pain tolerance.

Not that his answers are really informative. Or even complete ideas. Up and up he goes, pussyward bound.

"No-- I mean, yes, I-- Ah!" The fifty-thousand year-old "conqueror" is dragged upwards by the slow, rolling flexion of her quadriceps. More intermediate parts of her quads hold him now… and she bears down, her squooshy tush wriggling more and more as she flexes more of her thighs.

Van isn't just being helpless and sexy, of course.  _ His weak little wails are so cute! My nips get so-o-o~o hard every time he squeaks out again! _

It's okay, baby," she coos in between giggles. "I get what you're saying."

Her rich, sweet voice drops an octave or three. "And you're being  _ such  _ a good little pain slut. But you know, don't you…"

Courtney lets the power of her voice run over him even harsher, in many ways than her muscles against it. Finally, she half-gasps, half-growls, "That's not all I call you in my head."

She draws the moment out, letting him rest in a bit of muscular hell. That is to say, the back of his head trapped in a vice that could end New Gods, which would be bad enough. But he's trapped away from paradise; she hasn't brought him all the way to her cunt yet.

Held and helpless, Van has to stare up at the beautiful, fleshy labia, watch her moistness gather… glisten… and drip, drip, drip. Never able to lick her, unable to bring her to the squirting orgasm that will earn his balls' release.

There's another sputtered combination of nos and yeses that sets her chortling again. He's safe, though. She controls her laugh like she controls her thighs-- and him.

Totally.

Her belly tightens and releases, pumping her abs back and forth; her huge chest bobs and sways, but her cushy hips remain still in their curviness. But another layer of muscles bulge, just beneath his head, and up he goes. " _ Yes! _ " she groans.

So worth it.

Courtney is on her knees-- because she chooses to be. Toes squirming and well-padded ass jiggling, she holds her prey between her thighs-- by the power of those thighs alone. Her hands are in huge fists, planted on her hugely curved hips.

The massive muscle-goddess has some plans for Vandal Savage's face, but she's too bored to do the splits to get down to his level. Besides, this is much more fun. Bulge by bulge, band by band, she's using the incredible dexterity of her muscular control to ascend him.

To bring his face to meet her greedy, waiting snatch.

To meet his destiny: pussy-eating

As his eyes go wide and his body shakes and shakes, she's rather glad that he manages to keep his ki field strong. After all, it keeps him tough enough to go bouncing along .  _ Otherwise, I'd have to wait for him to heal each time! Bo-o-o-ring. _

"Let's be honest with each other," Courtney says, her tone fond and condescending alike. "You're hard from my pussy, I know. Nothing shameful about loving your owner's cunt."

Van's long, gasping moan and the tensing of his soft, pliant warrior-caveman muscles in another attempt to hold off a most unwise jizz moment.

She chuckles. "I don't blame you, sweetie. I would be, too. Hell, I am!"

The chortle turns into a deep laugh sending ripples through her soft, squishy thiccness and her smooth, harsh hardness. "I mean, I own me, right? And my clit is wa- _ hey _ stiffer than your cute little prick ever could be."

Chewing her lip, Courtney tilts her head left and moans as her golden hair dances wildly. "It's more, so much more, my pretty toy." The purr of her voice is a predator by itself, creeping through his mind while he's held between her thighs.

Her tongue strokes over her lips as the clench of her cunny gets faster and faster. Stronger and stronger-- she's her own best dirty talk partner, too. "You're stiff from the pain, not just your body, but your mind, too."

That makes her smile even more, as does her next little Prophecy of the Descent of Van. "And you  _ love  _ it. Look at how much precum drools down that adorable little stiffie-- and you can't even feel my cunt yet."   
  
A deep growl escapes her voice, and the pressure increases. "But you're not just stiff, baby," she asks. "Are you?"

It's time to take him to school as much as to church. Courtney shows him what hardness  _ really _ is. Striations blossoming and pulling all along the extra web of fractal muscles as she makes his jaw and skull suffer her strength.

Suffer  _ for _ her strength.

To his silence, she lets out another predatory groan. "I haven't touched that wimpy dick in quite some time. And yet… those silly, adorable little balls look ready to burst!"

Another squeeze, just below Van's head. He grunts. More pressure builds.

There's a gurgling cry within the walls of her thighs. Shuddering, shaking, his every focus on simply surviving his muscular mistress' legs… he submits. Howling an affirmative for her.

_ Speak! Good bitch. Heel. _

_ Hee-hee-hee... _

Even if his cranium is but barely bruised, his mind is crushed back down into subspace. Tightness leaves his body-- save that pre-drooling erection, throbbing so much it's almost painful to look at-- as though it's frightened away by her raw hardness.

Shouldn't it be, though? Heat even more than wetness kisses his face, her sex only a little bit from his lips. But still a lifetime from his tongue.

Just a little bit too far away to lick, she holds him-- and the pain fades from him-- but so does anything but Courtney's will. Even the constant pressure from all sides is just sense data, just telling him the limits of his world.

Which is really pretty simple.

Her muscles. Her pussy. Her desires.

That, now, is Vandal Savage's entire world.

_ My precious little Van. _

She's almost tender with him. There's only enough force to bracket his head, then push it up insistently. She could… maybe… do a little more, but...

_ I still have to take care, _ Courtney reminds herself. _ After all, I have to be careful, or I'll crack him on just the tautness alone, never mind the strength! _

_ It would require no more exertion than an egg. Still. He really needs to get better about answering my questions. _

_ Speak, bitch! Speak. Mmmm; good bitch. _

"Tell me," Courtney commands, rather than laughing her ass off the way she wants to. "You know what I think of you."

She strokes her hands along her hips, down to her blonde muff and teasing two fingers at her clit. "Aww,  _ yeah! _ " The stiff nub responds eagerly, tormenting her captive with a fresh splurt of her aroused juices.

Her hard abs roll forward, while her head rolls back. Groaning, she arches her torso, still holding still beneath her waist, torturing Van with the nearness to the paradise of cunnilingus. His purpose, prepared but denied.

"I've never had to tell you," Courtney whispers, just at the edge of his hearing. "But from the moment you saw my new body, you were lost… not just my slave, not just my pain slut…?"

Fifty thousand years of tyrannical habits do not fade easily. Unable to answer, Van focuses on himself. "I," he groans, and then, as his face is hit by another fragrant splash of femmejuices, he loses track.

"You?" she warns, tone rising again. But she adds no pain.

She doesn't need to.

He's trying to make right.  _ It's slow, but he is trying. _ So she otherwise remains quiet as he babbles, "I… I.... I-- you..."

_ There we go.  _ At last, he manages to put the focus where it should be: on Courtney. Not by much though.

Van moans, his fingers sliding uselessly over her thighs, completely unable to gain purchase on her invulnerable skin. He babbles, not an answer, but his words lightly tease at her puffy labia, fat with arousal. The little wisps of choked off breath have a certain contextual appeal, as a result

His tongue flicks out, finding nothing but the next drip. Trying to get closer to the conquering cunt, his chin tilts-- no help. He can't even squirm his head from side to side, but there's a bit of vibration like he wants to.

He wants to pleasure her. No, he needs it, but she forbids it… For the moment.

" _ Answer _ , Van." Courtney smirks, chewing on her thumbnail. "Don't just pig out on my gush there."

_ Maybe he needs a little incentive? _

"Or I'll spread my thighs and get up. We can have other fun."  _ Like me masturbating while holding your  _ torso  _ between my legs instead, but-- heh. _

_ You don't need to know that. _

Fear finds him, but does not push him out of the obedience place. It whips him deeper within. The flogging weight of fear cures more and more of his self-regard. It cures him of his  _ self _ , in many ways.

She'd end his world if she stood, now. She'd have no need to make a final squeeze. Taking would be enough to crack his will to live from within.

Squirming and thrashing against her inner thighs he panics. It helps to keep earning him his Courtney Water-ish Torture in swiftly streaming pussy juice, just for itself. All just so the First Murderer can do his very best to keep his place amidst deadly muscles.

Van's arms are back in business, hands grabbing desperately. Desperately trying to ward off being abandoned  _ far  _ harder than he tried to escape the thigh-trap. His mind is only lightly bound by her chains.

But bound, it is. "Mistress, I am your muscle-loving pain-slut!" moans History's Greatest Tyrant.

But the history he haunted-- human history, plus or minus a bit of modernity-- is over. Now is the time of the Hunters.

_ You're so much less now, and yet so much more. Good boy. That's a start. _

His howls take him where he needs to be-- hers. "Your muscle-slut! Please!"

Thrashing and gasping, Van's eyes open wider and wider as he screams for her. "Just yours! I will spend another fifty thousand years learning to pleasure you, and you alone, just let me eat you out, please!"

He's expecting a no.

" _ Yes! _ " Courtney moans with a pleasured little cry, and her glutes tighten up again. "Oh,  _ fuck _ yes!"

Paradise, indeed. The only one her weakling slave needs. He's gotten more than a yes-- he's gotten his mistress to cum.

Not with the true torrent from between those engorged lips that will release him from the need to edge himself-- but it is his mistress' pleasure, and he almost cums anyway.

Courtney can see his near-failure as clearly as her fat, bouncing tits, bobbling in front as she climaxes. It's all open to her view, just like him. She sees it within his body with her penetrating sight, sure, of course.

But she sees so much more than that. It screams his failure to her; how his own thighs and hips tighten. How his stiff little twenty-five centimeter prick waves frantically with the clench of his pelvic muscles.

She does not approve of how close he lets himself get.

"Oh,  _ Van _ ," she groans. "Don't…"

She bares her teeth in a grimace so fierce he can hear it. The shudder he gives then is a mistake. Flinching from her half-orgasm, half-anger makes him look too weak and too disobedient all at once.

"Don't be such a fucking  _ pig! _ " she growls, and her instincts take over. " _ OBEY! _ "

Her hips twist; if she had even half as much control as she does, she'd snap his neck and/or close her thighs completely around his head forever. Oh, he'd be back, but it'd be so boring waiting!  _ Can't have that. _

The twist propels Van into his newfound paradise, pushing his lips in close on her pussy. His nose is buried in moistness at last. At last, his chin shoved up so his lips can finally,  _ finally _ meet her clit.

There are expectations to be met.


	19. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The once-Vandal Savage has been blessed between the fantastic and the ruined. Between the massive and unrestrained strength of Courtney Whitmore's thighs-- with their own, primal beauty-- and the utter paradise of her glorious pussy's pleasure, he has been covered in the power of her pleasure. It's a good thing he's been reprogrammed to worship that.
> 
> Because if she'd had even a little less minute control over her muscles, that orgasm could have killed him, wrecking him with the muscular hardness of a body now designed to weather the destruction and ignition of entire cosmoi. 
> 
> But she's developed a certain fondness for him; for all his feeble squirming was barely a part of the effort, his participation fed her dread Sex and Sadism Hungers. Domination and rape, utter power over him, oh yes, that makes her feel much better. All she has to do is focus. Control. Consume.
> 
> Not literally, if she's still careful. If that fondness, and the future she sees using him and using him is worth it to her. Or if a single moment of transcendent bliss is worth the mess and the clean-up.
> 
> After all, he'll always be back.

The pleasure of a Hunter is a dangerous thing. Courtney Whitmore's moaned " _ Yes! _ ' and subsequent climax nearly made quite a mess of Vandal Savage.

That happens to the victims of Hunters, when they mess up.

An end for failure; almost an end for an almost failure. In some ways, Van's quite lucky. He should be grateful.

Courtney gave him  _ two  _ almosts for the price of one. "Lucky toy," she half-whispers, half-moans.

Head tilting to the side, she brings her right hand up to rapidly squeeze and fondle the corresponding nipple; her left hand is down, raking bleeding lines across her slave's chest with her fingers. "Mm. Such a very,  _ very _ lucky toy."

Either could have done it. The twist, or the squeeze.  _ I could have killed him _ .

The gigantic, three-meter tall and immensely muscled preternatural predator finds the thought… A mixture of regretful lack of control, a spike of irritation, relief that her new post-superhuman reflexes kept her from completing the twist... And almost pure pleasure.

Pleasure from using Van to jill off, squishing her super-sensitive lips over his trapped face; pleasure from the exercise of power and kind cruelty. He's responding instinctively, slowly, but she rapes his mouth anyway-- his tongue and lips follow suit before his brain can even catch up.

_ Fuck. Maybe I didn't have to worry about whether or not he's any good. It hardly matters! _

Courtney barely has to tug on her tits, but she does, alternating her right hand from right breast to left and back, jiggling her mammoth mammaries as she goes.

Courtney takes her time building up speed, writhing her body around as she luxuriates in sensation.  _ It feels so  _ good _ to have this power over him. I'm pretty sure that's the biggest reason my sex Hunger needs someone as  _ pathetic  _ as Vandal Savage to feed it in the first place. _

Trembles of muscles grinding and pulling on each other run down her legs. Reality catches up to Van, and she feels his lips kiss repeatedly over her sex, wherever he can find purchase. Not just an instinctive response, but a questing nuzzle of his mouth, quivering in its dedication to the heavenly quim rubbing heat over it again and again.

She strokes her left big toe over the bottom of her right foot, giving herself a secondary burst of shiver. Her ass bulges and bounces, clapping the lush cheeks together as she ruts her slave's face. It makes her groan, the slow ripple of calf to quad to cunt.

More than just fucking  _ over _ his face, Courtney is working both ends of the action. With her toy caught between her quads and her pussy, she grinds the frantic Cro-Magnon's face at the best angles over her labia. His tongue is left to adapt, greedily lapping up her juices from deeper within.

_ Heh. I'm going to have to remember that trick for both introductions and continuing "relationships." _ "Oooh!" she gasps-- not that Van, or anyone else, can hear it. "Mm-- Mmmmmm!"

She's already pretty close, again, especially after the first orgasm. So why not enjoy it, even if she wants him to learn to work harder?  _ Sitting back and getting head can wait until he's more educated in Pussy. _

_ Time for class, li'l guy… _

Courtney's gigantic quads bulge, just a little more. Her thighs ripple and redouble with the power. The titanic, rugged muscles expand, shoving him up, and replacing a little more of her toy's air supply with her sex. The consequent motion of her hips forces his tongue deeper within while her clit shoves rapidly over his chin.

She's fucking his tongue like a lover's clit. The huge difference in size isn't a hindrance; she has the mastery of him, and of her own giant thews. So as he squirms and laps with amateur but zealous ardor for her orgasms, she pounds his head up while writhing her sex across the top.

_ At least Van's learned to keep licking through his fear and asphyxiation admirably well. _ It makes her smile. That, and just how good his face feels as she smears cunny juices all over it!

A sudden pulse of heat in her sex follows his demonstration of other lessons learnt well and more importantly fast, too. "Do it!" she howls. "More!"

Somehow, she's certain he knows what she wants-- even if he can't really hear her right now. Her right hand draws itself down along her underboob, squeezing and rolling handfuls of titflesh, adding counterpart ecstastic jolts, screaming with sex.

_ Oh, I like that! Van's face feels like it was made to kiss my pussy! I think I'll be generous. _

Her blue eyes flare wide open and her smile is radiant, fighting its way free of the constant cruel taint into a blissful beaming.  _ Yeah! I'm going to ride those lips, not just force him to do the work. Besides, I'm not a girl to sit back and let my vibrator buzz when my hips can move, you know? _

Blonde hair whips around Courtney's back as she throws her head back and her ass down. A scream of, "More!" echoes forth. "More and more and mine and mine!"

The same motion thrusts her gargantuan chest up and down, heaving with the ride more than her breath The more she squeezes him in, the more she makes a saddle of his mouth, the closer his little tongue gets to her G. Without her post-superhuman senses, he's having to struggle a bit.

_ Admirably so. Not like I'm giving him room to see much, nor to hear my pitch growing higher and higher. Given his limitations, he's really learning quite fast. _

It is really so very  _ nice _ she doesn't feel like she has to disparage and grind every aspect of his being down beneath the dirt he already is. Not just because it's a danger to her plans for control. But it's exhausting, even if he's working very hard at being pathetic.

So yeah, Van's doing good by her pussy without those sensory goads. He seems to do fine reacting to having femmecum as his cue, instead. Groans become moans become gasps, and more.

Soon, Courtney's pants reach up to a little scream of pleasure. "Yes!" is repeated again and again, with less word-like noises of, "Oh!" and "Unf!" and "Ahn!" alongside.

Honestly, she's truly squealing in moments of having him in place. She keeps him in place, too, where place is defined as "where her pussy needs him this half-second." Swiftly, her thrusts become full body.

Every part of her fucks Van. Not just her grinding thighs, but completed with a shifting up and down of broad, rugged shoulders and broader, rolling hips. Her core rocks with the same power, all but sucking him in.

He seems to get the point, though. "Oh,  _ good _ bitch," Courtney gasps. "So very, very good!"

While Van's hands beat useless at her thighs, his tongue is jerking and stroking in little curls within her wetness. As for his hands-- well.

She can hardly tell whether he's deliberately trying to please her with those light taps along the rolling masses of her thighs, or he's instinctively throwing his full force at her to try to break free.

_ All the same to me! _ She licks her lips, throws back her head, again and lets out another delighted wail. "That's! My! BITCH!"

That, Vandal Savage is; the muscle-enslaved, pain-addicted, near-mindless  _ bitch _ of Courtney Whitmore. And he loves it; for all he can't hear her, his back arches in a fauxgasm the second she gives him his coveted title. Obedient, his prick lets no semen forth but if his precum counted, he'd be in trouble.

She speeds up. Heats up. Thrills to it all

Rocking constantly, her hips move swiftly. Their rapid, powerful motions bounce her bubble butt with delightful wobbles as she tucks forward, back, forward, back in rapid succession. The pleasure and the dominance of it smears her juices all over Van's desperately moving face.

" _ Unf, _ " she groans, taking a slower moment to appreciate the whole package. Courtney's quads relax and her glutes unclench, just a bit.

She has to; she has no intention of trying to manage entirely on her own! "Mm, so nice… so very, very mine!"

With that, Courtney lets his head down again, sliding along the hardness of her legs. One of her fingers comes up to her lips and she chews on the tip, groaning. His chest shudders and his feeble thrashing grows a little less feeble as oxygen surges into his lungs.

Oxygen, nitrogen, some other trace elements-- and a  _ lot _ of Courtney-cunny. Van seems to really like it, by the way he's uselessly thrusting his perpetually-stiff prick up into cold air.  _ Speaking of thrusting… _

"Fuck!" she chants, matching word to deed as she squirms her right hip down, forcing her sex from mouth to cheek along Van's face. Just as swiftly, she hauls the right up and the left down, making a broad arc and back over to mount his tongue once more. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Her promises must be kept, especially to herself. A shuddering scream of, "Ahhhhhnnn!" wails out as she speeds up again. She's the one thrusting, in total control.

Ruthlessly, Courtney forces her dripping snatch up and down over the weakly struggling villain's face. Using him to frig herself, over and over.  _ I keep my promises, _ she reminds her clit.  _ I'll keep up my part! _

And her clit rewards her, feeding her sex-Hunger a fresh wave of instinctive clenches! If Van's tongue was cock-scaled to her vast volume, it'd be getting quite the brutal squeezing. She thinks she might be able to control it, but she  _ really doesn't want to! _

Instead, she keeps him safe, if battered, her butt bouncing up and down as she slams her cunt over his face, his little tongue forced deeper and deeper by her action alone.

It's not that Van's tongue isn't working her pussy. It is! And he's even a little better than the egotist she named him. His tongue can't quite keep up, but he's got a decent curl to it, tracing as much pressure as he can manage along her inner folds with some nearly acceptable attentiveness.

Not much better, though; she's still having to do most of the work to get herself squealing.

Still, he's doing enough to earn an "Oo" or two, maybe even a little grunt, in between the squeals. Courtney concentrates on him, teasing him with deadly force as her thighs ratchet a few centimeters closer shut. Only his meditative focus, the tantric defense, lets him survive within that heat as her eyes squeeze shut.

She can see everything still, but with her obscenely powerful direct gaze hindered, it filters her perceptions down some to touch.

Courtney's work has paid off. The trance of confusion and pain and pleasure and lust she put Van in on the way up to his cunt has quite crushed his supervillain ego out for the moment. He's trying his best to keep up and please her however he can, though.

"Such a  _ good _ boy," she coos at him. And he is, despite being the fucked, passive partner by far. Especially when she gives him enough space to suck on her clit "aggressively."

It's cute. He really is trying hard. She can almost feel more than a light flutter.

But she isn't content with cute, let alone just  _ trying, _ and she is certainly  _ not  _ content with "a little better!" A hungry snarl is swiftly matched by another rolling slams from her hips, cramming her slit back and forth around his face and his tongue. If this is his first quiz in his new Pussy education…

The plunge of his tongue into hot wetness, against her folds, the sweet kiss of an increasingly reverent mouth against her clit, all the ways he's trying to find what earns him more gush-- it's A for effort, but D for effect.

So, while he works feverishly to try to orally pleasure her, Courtney roughly fucks his face! Perhaps, that's how it should be-- she's the one in control, and her power is an active, harsh, full-body thing that she turns upon him pussy-first.

"Gotta use you good, baby," she groans. "Gotta get less horny-- and you're just the morsel to get me there!"

Swiftly, Courtney's hands busy themselves, squeezing and tugging on her pillowy tits, proportionally as brutal to herself as she's being to his face.

Her force, her sex, more than just her pussy, her whole fucking action is everywhere around him. Her ass anchors the thrusts that bounce him between rough muscle and heated slit, wriggling with the power of her thrusts. "Mmm!" is her rallying cry, repeated over an over again as she gets closer to a true climax.

She finds it in a sudden flood and a sudden roaring, " _ FUCK! _ "

Her fingers seek in the luscious softness of her deliciously huge breasts. They cast lightning jolts as they quest inwards to the broad, sensitive areolae, centering in to tug on her nipples. That hits a further ecstasy cycle, getting another loud squeal that's matched by a spasm of her quads against the side of his head.

As his tongue follows her cues with frustrating slowness, she's bouncing him up against her slit with her quads. Impossible hardness and incredible strength is all around him-- save where his face borders on paradise. Her body control is total, her glutes tightening and squeezing her groin down and dragging the fleshy lips back and forth with rolling movements from her hips.

Rough fucking for Van, anyway. Extremely gentle face-turbation, by her new standards. "Need…" she whines.

Courtney  _ wants  _ to get to that squirt she's demanded of him, but it's going to take so much more. _ Focus, _ she reminds herself. She bites her inner cheek hard, letting the pain he could never evoke run through her as a counterpoint to the pleasure he's still only a little past barely participating in.

It's for his own good. For his life. Held at the cleft-point between her not-quite closed thighs and her lust-heated cunt, the weak little male is safe from the potential  _ snap _ of her ongoing squirming and thrusting.

She did promise Van, too, that obedience would keep him safe from harm. Something in her refuses to break her word, even to a worm like Van. All of her might, all of her power, is guided by that.

By the sacredness of her words, casual or not.

So she's holding him protectively in the middle of the clash of titanic forces she calls getting off. "Pretty little man," she groans. "Pretty. Little. Mine!"

Just like she kept him cradled within the twist, her muscles working around him in the same instinctive control. Despite how offended she still feels that he wasted energy, scrambling at the last moment to try and stop his cock from spending itself. But she  _ is _ offended.

_ It's mine. His tongue, his focus, his cock, his cum, his life-force… All of him is mine! _

Still, Courtney is glad it was only  _ nearly  _ the end.  _ How did I know to keep control? It was all so fast. _

Even a Hunter's reflexes can have problems going faster than themselves, after all! She's keeping an eye on the rest of him, now as a result. Or rather, no small amount of her multitasking.

Even if she wasn't conscious of every cell in her body, she'd be able to keep him safe and keep him fucked. She could go berserk humping his face, and her promise would endure. The power of her words is something amazing, even for a Hunter.

Having told him he was safe, she could have a wet dream of her Al grown to Hunter-equivalent size and Van would indeed be safe, just where he is right now as she fucked at full force in her sleep. A Hunter's word is her strength. There can be no other way.

Mind you, she's got some edges there other than just  _ strength, _ or at least, more than one kind of strength.

While he's struggling just to manage three things-- frantic and inexpert oral pleasure for her pussy, stopping himself from cumming from how good she smells and how fiercely she hurts him, and keeping himself resistant to the mere aftershocks of her muscles-- she's managing  _ thousands _ .

Possibly more.

Panting becomes moans, but she doesn't spare the attention to make words. "Un…" Courtney groans, hugging her bulging, bulky arms around her jiggling knockers.

Her hair cascades over the craggy power of her mountainous back. Head and cabled neck rolling behind her, she feels every flex and jolt. Transferred,  _ injected _ into her squishy tits by the force of her self-embrace.

"Ah… Mmmm!" The hug is tight, a worlds-crushing embrace that gives her such a pleasure-filled squeeze it almost bruises. She loves the pinch and the pain, stirred into the purer delights.

Rutting back and forth atop her plaything, she lets her tits go, for now. Her hands reach back to anchor themselves atop a different softness-- her swiftly clenching ass. Her shoulders thrust back, vast delts looming, but she has the mastery of it all.

Courtney controls precisely how she moves, bouncing her soft, jiggly tits back against her hands. She enjoys it; though she spares some concern for the surface, it's fun to do her Van right, without having to watch the world. But…

She wasn't alone in that brief moment between the end of the Pulse and Van's little  _ gift _ . It's got to be hell up there. But she  _ has _ to do this, or else become an archdevil herself.

Van's making it easier for her, too. She does take note, and means to reward him.  _ After all, he's still working that tongue and those lips, even if I'm doing most of the real work otherwise! _

By reward, of course… Well. She's certainly not going to be letting him go, so...

Courtney decides to take his thrusting tongue as obedience and his muff-muffled screams as gratitude. Gratitude for the sudden jab, gratitude for her diverting the same hand marking his chest in scratches to ruthless fuck with his nerves, too.  _ Honestly, I'm more than half managing his oral work, too. _

Though her pupils are dilating, her brow furrows as she considers it.  _ Is _ he worthy of reward?  _ Maybe I'm being too nice! _

_ Well… I did promise… and I promised I'd take his dick off if he came without permission, too. I have to balance, remember? _

If Van can't manage his own body, she'll just have to manage it for him. Her knees stretch; her burly adductors release something of their guard. The lovely wail of loss that follows as she moves him from cunt-crammed to pussy-proximate is fairly flattering gratitude, she finds.

Of course, she still has to keep managing him. His tongue moves back to "adequate," flicking against her puffy nether lips as they gush her arousal. Following where he felt her shudder the most before. His dick distracts him-- but she gives a secretive little smile at that.

After all, Courtney wants him there, stuck on the edge between pre and cum. It's the most beautiful state she's seen him in, and she deserves some pretty scenery. She just has to regulate him-- like now.

His heels dig into the ground, arching his back as he tries to gasp for air and kiss her clit, all at the same time. She permits it, for a moment-- but not too much of that undignified upthrusting. And her left hand finds pressure points all over the so-called tautness of his chest.

She most  _ definitely _ uses the top-inner promontories of her quads to pin his ears hard against his skull, though. Harder, too, once she starts grunting, "Yes. Mmm. Yes! Mmmm!  _ YES! _ "

She does that harder than him too, after all. She wants more freedom to squeal her own way. It's a steady pattern, but she doesn't want him to mistake her meaning.

After all, Van has just barely managed to avoid taking the most poorly-advised liberty with her prior yes! She'd have seen it in his skin even if she couldn't see within his tight little balls where the tantra began to slip. And she  _ did _ see that-- and how much ki production it wasted.

_ Impatient little bitch! I could have killed him! _ The thought, cold and burning all at once, reverberates in Courtney's mind in the endless moment.

_ Mine! _ **Worthless** Poorthing **_MINE!_ ** Her thoughts, thousands of multitasking threads suddenly crossing into one, then speed up just before her immensely powerful thighs-- each broader than her toy's whole body-- force the far smaller Van up to her sex yet again.

She's trapping him in an enviable prison, indeed. Oh, it's hardness all around him below and the sides. His ears are all but flattened, and the strain on his skull would leave him knowing nothing but agony if it weren't for the power of the euphoria to which he's been driven.

And yet… Right above him-- right where she's planting his face-- there is a softness so beautiful as to tear his will apart. To cut out the Savage and truncate the Vandal, leaving only Van. Slave of Courtney Whitmore.

Especially a slave of Courtney's muscles, but her beauty, soft or hard, entrances him utterly.

Courtney lets out a long, shuddering moan as she feels her pussy lips spread over her bitch's face. "More!" It's her favorite demand.

Her favorite gift. Her horny slit covers him in more femmecum, too-- a fresh, shower over that once-arrogant face. Covering it in a soft, damp lushness from above, showering him all the way in.

Panting, Courtney keeps him is pressed into the constant drenching of her pussy, not quite completely smooshed in, just on the very edge of her puffy lips

There is some of her softness denied him. Her poor, lovely ass is shivering in the cold!  _ Or rather, wriggling about as I enjoy some slut-seat action. _ She can't wait to have a second face to sit on as well as Van's.

The jiggle and wobble of her cheeks deserve kisses too-- and the amount of delectation even those wiggles cause tell her that her butt  _ deserves  _ tongue, too. For now, she's going to have to be satisfied with the bounce and the boom of her booty as Van adjusts better to tonguing her slit.

Her butt does like that. "Oh, yeah, fuck…!" Her eyes close out of pure habit, and her breathing shallows as her ass pleasures itself.

The tautness. The tensing. Flexing back and forth as she rapes Van's face savagely.

The big, plush globes are squeezed together tight by her glutes again and again, emphasizing the teardrop perfection as she lets the pleasure gush forth..

And gush she does. Finally, Van seems to adjust to having his universe divided between paradise and torment. She feels it all build and build.

Soon, she doesn't even have to correct him below the neck any more. His cock remains stiff from the same energy fields he's tapping to keep his head uncrushed-- his obedience to her order not to cum.

Growls join her groans-- not in anger, but in satisfaction. Her huge muscles tense, not just her hips and thighs, but her shredded abs, pulling in tight as her core clenches in response to a particularly adorable series of fierce cunny-kisses.

It's admirable, how little he has to concentrate on  _ that _ devotion now, and she accepts as her due his devoted focus

Courtney doesn't even have to prod him to get him to shift those drabs of attention from edging himself to eating her out more enthusiastically.  _ That was fast for fifty thousand years of bad habits. I suppose he must have become a lifelong learner somewhere along the way. _

Still, he's always slow, her Van. Without her advanced senses, he's always a little behind, too. Even with his tongue going a bit too deep and brushing over her G rather than against, lips releasing her clit from a nice tug a bit soon…

It's nice, but slow, that sort of thing.


	20. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving her Van down into subspace, Courtney Whitmore's immense muscles, almost unlimited power, and even less-limited beauty and control has given her utter dominion over his very existence. Not just his barely-saved life and barely-avoided death, but his persona, his needs, his desires, all have become hers to play with. Hers to focus.
> 
> And she therefore, is the sum of them all.
> 
> Looping his nigh-unlimited life-force into the energy created by the suppression of his own orgasm has given her a gift, though, and even though she forced him, she appreciates it. Because he has that much more... resistance... to the force of her apocalyptic strength, she's able to let more of it free. To cum harder, to cum more.
> 
> And she does. Feasting on his submission, now that she has put him in a place beyond all pain. Now that she has made him utterly and completely hers.
> 
> Then, at the end, when his body is covered in her orgasmic fluids, when he is unconscious because to remain conscious would have been to give her less than her due, she takes one more thing.
> 
> The time for snuggles. She's decided they've both earned it.

Enwrapped in tantra, ki-reinforcement, and most importantly, the strength of Courtney Whitmore's unparalleled legs in all their multibarrel glory, Vandal Savage is giving at most  _ adequate _ head. Slow, clumsy, but devoted, the only reason he's pleasuring her at all is his agony, shame, and humiliation. Oh, and the fruits of that devotion, utterly focused on her pussy.

If Van wasn't more focused on pleasuring her than surviving her, she might be pissed about that. After all, his agony, his shame, and his humiliation are all gifts from  _ her _ . It's only that focus which transmutes his slow, fumbling amateur's mastery of the cunnilingual arts into something that, while slow, can at least aspire to adequacy _. _

Courtney knows she deserves much more than adequacy.

_ But I'll take it for now, given it'd be ecstasy to any lesser woman. _ "Feed me," she groans, lifting her heels and pressing her bouncy butt down.

Her Hunger, her new body's utter drive to have sex, seems to be fed better with even an inadequate partner. That's enough, that glut and gorge of sexuality. Especially since she's still just as merciless about washboarding her dripping, drenched pussy over his face!

Courtney's groans become louder and louder the more his face moves and his neck twists, the more he learns to writhe actively back against her sex. "Almost… ah… almost... "

Then he hits it. Energetic tonguework and a firm acceptance of his place between the terrible force of his thighs earns Van another long, moaned out, " _ Yes! _ "

Courtney's hands whip around behind her again, slapping loudly on her tight-clenched ass. She thrusts forwards with her yes and her smack, letting the wobbling ripples in her perky rump shake the sharp pain through her. Completely surrounded by impossibly stiff quads, her toy's ears can't hear the affirmative, but the vibrations slam through him.

That said, the way his ki-reinforced body is repeatedly thrashed against the hard concrete and harder Hunter strength is as unmistakable of an approval as the flood of heady-tasting Courtney-cum all over his face.

This time, though, Van knows better than to take that yes for specific permission. He is down into a place where his ego has no independent meaning, where his I-ness only exists to serve Courtney. Soon, he's so far down that even at the very edge of his reinforcements' limits, he is feeling no pain.

Her lips pull back in a radiant smile. He's left with only a rapturous trance, his every movement full of the desire to do her will. She's proud of him, honestly; and of herself as well.

Her own euphoria is flooding her, spreading through her veins and nerves together. It's more than his, but she's got more need than he to boot. Not that that's ever anything but the case.

_ Still, I'm a good teacher, _ she giggles to herself. _ He's feeling no pain, but he's topping off his protection with what the pain  _ should _ be, right along with the orgasm abstinence. _

_ Bet he couldn't do  _ that  _ before! _

"Cutey," Courtney whispers, watching him. His new skills and new mental state is all but shouted by his body language. Shown loudly in the limp, almost relaxed way his cute little caveman bod accepts its thrashings.

The flailing fruitless force of his merely bodybuilder-big arms switches rapidly away from the frantic attempt to shove himself from within her legs' embrace. Instead, his fingers worship almost as much as his tongue tries to, rubbing and massaging along the tight-packed grooves of her quads and belly. And just occasionally, fearfully stroking the very periphery of her hips' luscious padding.

Van sings his submission to her. Not with breath, but by mouth nonetheless. Soundlessly but not wordlessly, his tongue pressing and probing as deep as Courtney's tight, fleshy cunny will permit.

It's a kind of speech, like a very odd alphabet trick to better pleasure her clenching depths.

_ Sings is the word. _ He harmonizes with her movements; accepts the rape of his face and surrenders to it. His chin, his lower lip-- whatever she chooses to stroke her clit along, it moves in synch to better stimulate.

His whole face-- even his nose and forehead-- are offered up to Courtney and her pussy, bravely bracing against ecstatic squeezing of her labia that would have destroyed him, save for the ki field.

And his tongue…

Van's tongue at last, just lightly, teases the edge of her G-spot. It's deep inside; ordinarily, you'd need hands. Even her huge Hunter body isn't big enough to pull his head in.

But there's just enough give that he earns, just enough sex-smoosh he can survive, that lets him stroke his eager tongue just lightly over the very edge of the nerve-knot

_ It's… _ She never comes down from her last orgasm this time.  _ fine…  _ The feather-light stimulation and volcano-hot pleasure deep within her finally well-loved slit goes everywhere. 

The pulse of it, the tensing and flexion of chiseled bulk everywhere gets her jaws tightening and her toes curling into the remnants of the concrete.  _ really fine, honestly… _ Her head throws back, and long waves of gold follow after.  _ Mmmaaybe fine... _

She's singing too, groaning in the key of unf as her hands come back up to stroke and pet the super-responsive and super squishy expanses of her mountain mammaries.  _ Honestly, it's kinda…  _ Courtney is rough on her tits the way her toy just can't, fiercely pinching her nipples with intermittent sharp tugs.  _ Kinda nice… _

_!!!  _ Her arms' bulge and expansion squeezes and snuggles the lurid tracts of tit-flesh in tight, cramming herself together to better appreciate the dual balance of her dominance and his submission. _ Ooo... _

And he has reached the rapturous heights of submission in so many greater ways than merely self-edging.  _ And, unf..  _ Perhaps it would be best to say that he has reached the rapturous  _ depths _ of submission, serving a sex he values more highly than even his fifty-thousand year-old life.

Even though his tongue can only swirl against the damp flesh at the very, very limits of sensation, it rocks her entire mega-amazonian frame.  _ it's not like…  _ The pleasure explodes now, a fire to match the lightning from her clit. ... _ he could really push back anyway! _

Van's dedication bears more and more fruit. Her huge tits wobble faster and faster as her potent muscles clench and shake, hard abs pulling in more and more. Her breath comes faster, shorter, her eyes wide and her lips moving like she was making out with someone else's pussy.

_ Wish I knew… whose… Mmm. _

"More!" she cries out again. "Your face-- I want  _ more, _ Van!"

Courtney thrusts faster and harder down the more he willingingly brings his chin and lips to meet the dominant downthrust of her clit while pleasuring around her slit when she lifts up. Her eyelids open; her pupils dilate, and she even lets him heal the stinging wounds on his chest. Licking her lips, she brings her left hand up to give her other breast the same personal massage as her right's been getting.

Her breathing is speeding along with it, huge chest and huger breasts shaking hard as her lungs work. "Deeper, Van! Work that tongue deeper!" she urges.

Van can't hear her, not with words. But it's rather hard to miss what she does to his arms and his face. Her hips are slamming forward, rugged quads slamming up to nearly vertical as she bends over, flexing her pecs to keep her oversized rack from overbalancing forward.

Courtney's fingers work like floggers, dancing over her precious prey's rib cage. Here, too, she leaves marks and stings, but in this she is generous. Unable to feel pain in his subspace trance, his ability to accept more and more thigh tightness and pussy pressure skyrockets.

Her squeeze rises as her fingers leave swats further and further up his torso, leaving her prints upon his cute little deltoids, pumping power into him with every new fingerspank. Van's weak deltoids are blessed liberally by her fingers, and she bears down harder with her already vibrating glutes.

Her ass flicks back and forth in short, sharp wriggle-thrusts that jog her whole frame everywhere she permits, slapping her slit over his face with ever-increasing ardor.

Then, her pleasure reaching new peaks and soaring up further, she stretches her hands open and goes for the snag. Not open too wide; she doesn't need to. Despite having biceps (and triceps!) that  _ human _ world-class competitors would envy,.she can touch fingertip to thumb as she wraps her hand around his upper arms and grabs hold hard.

_ My good and devoted pain-slut, _ Courtney thinks fondly.  _ You've worshipped pussy and muscles; let me give you more of my generosity. _

He's no longer trying to submit on his own terms, and she's willing to reward that. "C'mere, cutey," she moans, squeezing her prodigious glutes together  _ hard _ ..

When Courtney clenches her core in again and curls forward, he follows, massaging and rubbing against whatever she presses them.

For a wonder-- for Van-- it's softness she demands he stroke. Heavy, swiftly-bouncing softness, but the softness of her pillowy tits nonetheless.. She moans, bouncing her enormous melons against his hands, immediately setting her slave caressing and squeezing.

With, admittedly, no room to maneuver more than his elbows and wrists, he's limited in how well his gripping fondles can caress violently jiggling tits that outmass his whole body. It's just context. She shudders, groaning out her approval nonetheless.

_ But he tries so! I almost don't have to hold his hands in place! _ Courtney squeezes tighter around his arms anyway-- for it's her desires that matter, not necessity.

"Yes!  _ Fuck _ you're a good lay when you're whipped, Van!" Soon, she's soon jerking his arms around in circles.

Manipulated, Van's hands rub and fondle her boobs in every bit as much obedient synchronization as his tongue and face do her sex.

She wishes he could hear her. He almost deserves the praise. "I am  _ never _ letting you escape me-- not ever!" 

And Courtney  _ knows _ he deserves the fear. " _ FUCK! _ " She howls out her frenzied bliss, louder and louder.

Ruin results, as it should, in celebration of her pleasure. Her roaring voice can't shake the vast chasm, not of the substance of the changed Earth-- a thousand fleets of star-dreadnoughts couldn't do that now. But it slams hard into the remnants of the ruins, her orgasmic cries blasting the tops off the walls completely. 

After all, she feels no need to restrict how much  _ she _ cums. Her ancient little slave has built up more and more energy from obeying her command. Her core tightens hard, pussy squeezing and smacking against Van's face while her ass twists back and forth, glutes pumping and making her quads grip harder…

And harder…

And harder…

Right on his trapped head!

Not too much. He survives, doesn't he? That's still important to Courtney.

Just enough so that even in his euphoric trance, he feels something of the worlds-destroying force of her greatest climax yet. "Oh, Van, yes,  _ finally! _ " It feeds her, fulfills her, and it makes her squeeze all the tighter for it.

He's perfectly safe; Courtney gave her word. Just like when she effortlessly and reflexively converted a neck-breaking twist and a head-crushing squeeze into what amounted to a violent cuddle of his face against her snatch…

She knows the very moment his enhanced resistance begins to overload, and the endless moment of Flash-fast thinking gives her plenty of time to react properly.

Feeling the ki-fields start to buckle against her thighs, she reluctantly cables up her sartorius muscles with a stretching push.  _ Aww, poop, I was enjoying that.  _ Her legs and the thick, striated bands spread almost as wide as her echoing moan.

It's worth it; her sudden kneeling splits gives Van the glorious safety of several centimeters' space away from her deadly flex. 

It also spreads the sudden splurts of female ejaculate as Courtney's pussy grinds over empty air, her cum's owning splatter so much more thorough at this close of a distance. She smiles. After all, she feels he should be grateful for that, too.

With his mind ignoring all pain signals in favor of jubilant service to her, Van isn't feeling the force of her orgasm like he did upon waking up. In fact, he seems dedicated to accepting her squirting cum all over his face. To the amusement of the part of her still ruthlessly protective of her property and her promise, he shifts and writhes once more.

Not to use the freedom of moment she permits to try to  _ escape _ her quadriceps' impossibly harsh alternating bands and smoothness, no. Instead he seems obsessed with continuing to eat her out through her screaming climax-- and with making sure her femmecum covers every inch of his face, his beard, his hair, all of it.

At least briefly in his trance, worthiness is no longer his power, nor even his survival.

Vandal Savage has re-found the joy denied him-- as Van, in service to the once-Stargirl's sex. To Courtney's pleasure. Unsurprisingly, she feels like rewarding him.

Still screaming out in rhapsodic roars, she lets his arms go, her own far-burlier limbs rocking back to slam her hands hard into the bare stone that's now behind her. The SLAP of unstoppable force meeting the immovable majesty of the changed Earth dulls and becomes almost a bell-tone. It serves her purpose still; she feels precious pain of her own, her palms briefly bruised from the violence meeting abrupt resistance.

Pleasure doesn't quite marry pain like she's done to Van, but it at least flirts. It's a useful trick. No Hunter may harm the changed Earth, but Courtney isn't alone in taking lewd advantage of how much it can hurt her!

_ Why should my property get more fun than me? That's not right. Even if he's being such a sweet little bitch. _

She takes her time, swiftly scraping her stinging palms over the invulnerable unworked stone, friction becoming burning heat that makes her wail once more.

"Not…" she pants… "Not quite there!"

Flirtations between pain and pleasure become serious making out. Once she's built up some serious heat, she slaps her still-shuddering stomach, leaving singing handprints over her rock-hard abs. The sting is nice but-- not nice enough.

"So… fucking…  _ close _ !"

The whining cry of disappointment spurs her toy. The euphoric subspace stupor is fading, but he is still every bit her bitch. He can't possibly add to the pain, so his freed arms demonstrate a truth of the new age.

Just because someone's strength is irrelevant if set  _ against _ a Hunter's, doesn't mean it can't be made to  _ serve _ a Hunter. Van's arms may be twiggy things to his owner, but they're sturdy enough for him to surrender his brief freedom. Confident in her word, he reaches back around, plants his palms on the quivering power of her calves, and pushes himself back up.

Despite the danger of buckling his ki reinforcements and thus truly losing his head, Van begins to give her not-too-inexpert head once more. Does the clench and squish of her pussy lips make his cheeks strain and bruise his skin? For now, that pain is a high honor, and it makes him kiss and nuzzle her labia all the more ardently.

His tongue can't reach deep enough without her help to give her that immense, Hunter-shaking orgasm again. Still, he can easily reach her clit if he's willing to try. He is.

Like the new-made man he is, his body trembles. His dark skin blushes darker, without a hint of shame, only a lewd meditative focus that forces him on. Honetly, it tugs a bit on her heart, and lower bits.

"Oh Van," Courtney pants fondly. "So sweet, little one. So very sweet."

Her big breasts bounce as her pecs flex and her breathing speeds once more. Her handprints on her belly are already fading, but her core is bearing down again and again. Pleasure spawns reflexive squeezes to reward Van's work.

She doesn't need to support herself, but she jams her left arm behind her. The twist goes in hard enough to pump out her tricep, nice and bulgy. In parallel, her right pointer goes down to her soaked blonde bush, stroking herself lazily.

As his tongue worships her clit, she brings her fingertip down to it as well. "Together, baby." Her self-knowledge meets his fervency, and her clitty is well-loved at the meeting.

"Yes!" she cries. "Yes, yes-- yes, I'm cumming, Van!  _ Good _ bitch! Oh,  _ fuck _ yes, that's just right!"

And it is; her ecstatic cries sing out again. She may have lots of lessons to give him yet on the art of pleasing pussy, but this teachable moment's brought them both along far enough. It doesn't take them long, working together, for her to cum once more.

Still shuddering from that climax, she tightens up her glutes and wriggles her hard thighs around. Sadly, it pushes Van away from his submissive Eden at her cleft. She catches his shoulders with her broad hands, and cuddles him up to the hardness of her shredded abs.

Cradling his sex-soaked hair at the very bottoms of her heaving, heavy knockers, she strokes her hands down over his merely human-broad chest. The gleaming, megawatt smile she made famous as Courtney has become a gigawatt-. Perhaps even a terawatt.

"It's time," she coos. "Cum for me, pretty slut. Let go of your guard, and cum."

It's not easy, especially for a martial arts dilettante like Van. Switching out of his meditative state of self-defense might have cost him his climax. It might have cost him his erection, too.

But his face-- his whole head, really-- is still covered in the musk of his owner's orgasm. The smell of paradise is the memory of paradise. And her fingers bring the touch of paradise, too.

He's brought over quickly enough, groaning "Courtney!" again and again. In many ways he has no choice.

None at all, really. Pleasure is mixed with his owner's orders and the stern stimulation of her fingers. There's a little pain, just to let him know he's doing a good job

"I'm here, sweetie," Courtney sighs happily. "I'm here, and you're  _ mine. _ "

It's easy for her to see and sense where to hurt him. The same sight guides her to his erogenous zones are without much difficulty. A stroke of her fingers just under the ribs here, her thumbs squeezing down atop his pectoral muscles from his shoulders there, rubbing his chest and stomach with just shy of bone-breaking force.

Soon, it all adds up.

A final squeal of her name leaves Savage's shaft fountaining. His seed splurts over his belly yet again, the sticky, heated mess trailing over his abdomen and below. It's enough of a wad to even run down and soak his pubic hair again.

Because she made it that way.

Courtney smiles down at him, still resting his head against her far-harder stomach. "You're kinda cute like that, Van," she says with a husky catch to her throat.

Her purr falls over him like a blanket-- or an axe. "Covered in my cum and yours, all relaxed in my lap… Enjoy it."

She certainly is. Satiated for a few minutes on these last climaxes, she can admit to herself that for a human, perhaps, he makes for some decent thickness... And at just under twice the human male average might--  _ might _ \-- be good enough for her.

_ Fuck if I'm going to let him know that, though. He's already starting to come up out of Good Boy brainspace. _ His shoulderblades twitch against where she's got them caught between her thigh and groin on either side.

The signs are everywhere on him; his back is reflexively flexing as his subconscious tells him that his comfort is at least as important as her enjoyment of him again.

But she doesn't punish him now.  _ Why break him poorly? _ _ A blubbering, panicking mess is fun, but that's not all I want. _ .

_ If Van can do nothing but sob and surrender passively, I might as well just kill him a few times for fun and then throw him out. _

A grimace curls over her face.  _ No; I won't ruin this, _ Courtney tells herself, every bit as fierce as she plans to be with him.

_ Having a muscle-loving pain-slut who regenerates as swiftly as he does is a treasure of the changed Earth. A blessing of Gaia-Geb. Even if I'm still not sure why that name means something to me. _

Another vow is made in silence.  _ I  _ won't _ spurn such a gift _ . Her word is stronger than she is; it will be so.

So for now, she just cuddles him. The savage Hunter even adjusts how hard she's flexing to still his unconscious attempts to be comfortable. He will never even know she noticed; she makes sure of that.

_ When he's ready, I'll finish the job. When he's on the edge of true and permanent surrender, I will accept only perfection. When he's experienced the whip of my strength and my sadism often enough enough that it won't break him… _

_ Then, I'll treat every little bit of I-ness about him with ferocity. But my cute, stupid little toy isn't ready for that yet. _ So she pets him, holding him in recline under the shadow of her enormously rounded breasts and above her enormously muscled thighs.

Her fingers cup around his chin and jaw. A smile traces over both of their features, for the same reason. Vandal Savage will never again have a throne.

Something that would have once been anathema to him is now warmly welcomed.

Courtney is pleased to note how his shoulders and breathing settle down together. How well he relaxes into her lap. His arms come forward, crossing with a wet squelch as he plants his palms together over his spent seed.

No, he will never rule from a throne, it's true.

But already, he seems to find being held over her thighs to be a seat of much greater honor.

It's a start.


	21. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The once-Vandal Savage, now Van has surrendered to the towering Courtney Whitmore- and she's cum all over his face. Warning him that she must hurt him eventually, and only his submission will save him, she interrogates him about the Pulse itself, and the pre-Pulse Hunters.
> 
> Carrying him in the incredibly curved hardness of her lap, she forces him to tell the tale of how his very pride sparked the internecine war between the Lodges Feminine and Masculine of the original Hunters. Although neither the immense power nor the immense Hungers of the newly empowered Hunters were present, they were strong, fast, and capable... and ever-lusty, always jockeying for power and position.
> 
> Vandal Savage, already ten thousand years old, was passed between them like a concubine held in common. Forced to bow his neck to them to stave off their anger. The old memories terrify him.
> 
> But nothing compared to the pure and unrestrained power that Courtney Whitmore has over him. He will speak. And he will hurt.

Courtney's massive hands stroll and stroke possessively over Vandal Savage's body. It's hers to reward and hers to play with. She ignores his twitches when the squeeze of her hands on his little pectoral muscles becomes a little too hard.

She's not even in the mood to punish when he flinches away from having his belly groped, six-pack soft against even the force of a single finger. Hope blooms in her as her thesis on the Hungers is validated. Mere minutes previously, she could only hope that she'd be able to give him even the slightest slack.

Now, his little wriggles just entertain her.  _ It's like a cat trying to squirm its way out of being snuggled on body armor. The pets are coming whether you like it or not, and you just don't have the claws to dig in, buddy. _

It bodes well for her major self-project. Abuse her Van and a few other captives enough, and she won't feel like she has to growl and snap at every little imperfection.  _ Some of those imperfections are my friends and family, after all-- and the web of humanity around them. _

_ But I was so Hungry... _

Relaxation also allows her time and focus to interrogate without beating it out of an increasingly incoherent slave. That's fun, but it involves so much extra work to decipher. Even if he can heal a broken jaw in seconds, the mumbling in the meanwhile is just irksome.

_ Speaking of… _

"Van," Courtney says softly, but with a hint of steel that makes him stiffen. "I'm going to hurt you."

Not for no reason, his whole body goes rigid. Before he can beg, she clarifies, "I'm going to hurt you again soon."

"You know this," and since it's true, he neither bothers to deny nor to beg for reprieve. "But you can stave it off for a little while, too."

His hair is soaked and re-soaked with her orgasmic juices, and it feels kind of nice slapping against the soft heft of her underboob as he shudders. "Yes, Courtney," he groans, adorable hardon returning just as fast as his fear. 

"I kn-know. I hope you won't take it amiss that I hope to forestall that as long as possible." He gives her a hesitant smile.

Courtney learns something else new. Even a fifty-thousand year old mass-murdering supervillain can have a boyish smile. With the right percussive maintenance, anyway.

_ Well, I  _ do  _ take it amiss. Not for itself, but because I want you to get out of thinking you should keep me sweet to avoid pain, and into thinking my sweetness is a prize in and of itself. We're on the road-- you definitely find my pussy's sweetness worth risking your life for. _

_ That's a plus. _

She wants him guessing, though. Cryptically, she sighs, "Mm.  _ Knowing _ , huh?"

Her fingers trail over him, exploring the life and body that fifty thousand years of regeneration has earned her toy. It wouldn't be bad-- for a single lifetime. Much as she suspects is true about everything else, this, too, is lazy.

And will need correction.

Van's shivering fear and stiffening arousal are nice plusses, too. Especially when she reaches down and hauls him up for her convenience. He's not that far down, really, and it feels nice having him planted against her tits.

  
She doesn't expand on her question. Yet. Chuckling darkly, she just says, "Up you go, little guy."

It only takes Courtney burying the very top of his head in her cleavage to give her sufficient space to reach down and grab his dick, after all.

"Restraint rules are on for this again," she notes, and squeezes firmly while he mumbles an affirmative reply. "Especially since I know you've got extra tricks.

Slowly, she rubs his cum into his "little" rod. Decorating it like an entirely inappropriate (or perhaps now appropriate) Sculpting class project. When she has it painted to her satisfaction, she brings her hand up to his mouth.

As Van cleans her hand, she says, "It's your knowing-ness I'm curious about right now." There's a slight jerk, a terrified shudder-- and that's it.

He doesn't miss a lick, which soothes her relentless dominance. As much as his weakness arouses her inner predator, his obedience appeases it. She lists the clues off by tapping her free hand's fingers with her thumb again.

"You knew about that pulse of energy coming. You've been dominated by stronger women in the past-- and specifically, by some that you recognize as being forerunners to me. And finally…"

"You had plans." His eyes close, giving her more than sufficient but less than desirable confirmation. "I didn't see much in those books that suggested a specific problem, just specific actions."

She pauses a moment. "Hang on, cutie," she cautions. "This is all getting kind of awkward."

In a flash, Courtney sweeps him off  _ her  _ feet, or at least her legs. The less-than-nanosecond motion is simultaneous with her move to cross-legged. It's the work of a moment's heartbeat to deposit her toy into her lap.

_ I'm faster than Bart now! _ The thought is tinged with some sadness.  _ Maybe even Wally. No real safety to test maximums-- this isn't Speed Force, I'm just twisting through the universe to do it. _

She has Van cradled across both legs, taut butt caught over the gap. His back is nestled into the crook of her right arm, just a bit past where her boobs make it impossible to hold him too close. He's left in a blinking confusion, his resurgent aplomb kept off-guard by her power.

The vaguely worried look his daze leaves him in is almost as cute as his hesitant yearning for her fist-sized nipples.  _ I'm glad he's learned about the limitations of permission. _ It makes her beam even brighter.

"Go ahead-- but…" Her purr makes his breath ragged and his cock stiffer. It's nice to know that even in his limitations, he can always find more to give her.

She demands it.

"I want to know the  _ story _ , Van," Courtney insists. "What you did. What you knew. What you were trying to do to  _ me _ ."

She's not in the mood for any prevarication. As he stiffens, she tilts him around with just a little brush of power. "Believe me when I say I already know you were trying to control me."

"But Courtney--" She chops her hand hard, but only over air. It stifles his protests as easily as it would a Sun-Eater.

Courtney shakes her head. "It's done. I know. Don't insult me."

That shuts him up in a snap, leaving his fingers just stroking against the thick perkiness of her right nipple. Nonetheless, her Hungers are even more relentless with her than she with him. She can already feel her irritation rising at his resurgent self-determination.

"The price for that is your life, Van," she tells him calmly. "You're  _ never  _ going free."

Her voice is rich from the deepness of her chest and the sad gentleness she can push past her snarling dominant urge.

He chokes, and turns his head aside, tears streaming down his cheeks. Hands shaking, he caresses her huge nips like he might earn some freedom with his handjob skills.  _ It's probably for the best he can't-- he's really not so good in the nipple relief department: fingers bureau. _

Adequate would not be enough to buy his freedom now. His fingers are shaking too much, his weak "grip" barely stimulating the crinkly flesh, and…  _ And I won't let you go. _

"Leave it be," she rumbles. "Well, keep working on my boobs, sure, you have a lot to learn there." She holds up a finger in front of his face.

"But get back to the answering. You're a slave. Don't make me rename you from 'Courtney's Meat' to 'Pounded Beef' a few times."

The finger curls back into her fist. As sign language goes, it translates. As does how hard he gets the more she threatens him.

Van's protests are valueless, and she knows it.  _ Hell, he knows it! _ She doesn't want more of them, so she simply mentally remarks on the rationale.

_ You already don't want to be free, you just want to be a slave on your terms. _

No matter how good he  _ thinks _ he is at deception, he's more or less shouting his true feelings out. Courtney can tell everything in the way he melts his body against her strength. Even when she's terrifying him!

It does make her smile. Not that it's a comforting smile.  _ First steps are first steps, I suppose. _

"Answer me now,  _ pet _ ," she chides. "You'll never get a better chance to come clean than when you've pleased my Hungers. I want to know what you know about  _ that _ , too."

He's beaten enough to slump into her arms, but not enough to admit how much she scares him. His voice is dull as he replies, "That… My knowledge is-- th-theoretical, concerning such matters."

A quirk of her eyebrow leads him to hastily amend, "I believe-- Ah, may I ask clarifying questions?"

_ Man, I don't think even Billy beating on him, Captain Marvel-style, ever got him stuttering. I rock! _ Courtney chuckles, and runs her hand through his hair, grooming him and rubbing her musk in deeper.

"Sure thing, cutie," she agrees, but warns, "As long as I don't feel like you're trying to prevaricate or play for time."

He exhales softly, just a little puff of air that seems to deflate him, pulling him inward. He looks up at her, brow furrowed. "By Hungers, do you mean that they have some sort of compulsion or requirement?"

"It's not optional. I can already feel the need getting worse." Courtney stares down at him, and he cringes, understanding who will feed those Hungers shortly.

"Ah. I see." Or rather, Van feels; her rolling, rigid muscles are active all around him.

She's flexing them all at once. The treetrunk legs supporting him, her washboard and rock-ridge stomach to the left, and the curl of her chiseled, burly arm around him. Her skin is already taut enough to crack an egg or a skull, but that is her default.

The sudden swell of muscles beneath is a jail more savage than Arkham at its worst.

_ That's sort of the secret. Supervillains don't keep  _ escaping  _ Arkham. They keep coming  _ back.

_ Just like Van will come back of his own accord. It's a mindset. _ And she has set his mind.

Going forward through her absurdly curvaceous breasts is not an option either. He already knows he's weaker than her tits. Faced with her continued silence and not daring her disapproval, Van plunges on.

"So," he begins, hemming only briefly. "I didn't know about the Hungers as you describe them, then, but…

Shame whips him, accompanied by stark, raving terror. "When I was in the power of the women I presume were your ancestors, they were utterly sexually insatiable and  _ enjoyed _ taking charge." Which isn't the reason for the terror, she notes, but does not interject.

Yet.

His breath comes in long, quaking groans from deep in his chest. Courtney is again amused-- he's squirming his ass around like she was already spanking it.  _ Remembering those heavy-handed women so long ago? _

She schools her grin from widening. It'd only hold him back.  _ Hoping I'll  _ help  _ you remember? _

_ Nah. Not now, little guy. But you'll earn it if you leave your explanation like that-- and I'll take my answer from you anyway. _

Van seems to understand, again. "I did note while among them…" He winces.

"And used it to escape, ah…" She raises a finger. She's not really in the mood for too many more useless noises.

Jerky, halting twitches within the prison of her flesh is accompanied by jerky, halting speech. "So, er-- there was some use of… that bowing my neck… this is hard to admit…"

_ You need to learn to take a hint better than you take some measly bones breaking. _

Courtney interrupts, voice warmly casual. "Save your fear for what I'll do to you just for fun, not for what I'll think of you, Van." His squirming isn't just irritatingly boring.

It's making her mouth water, figuratively at least.

_ I have to keep him corrected. _ Her pussy is somewhat less metaphorically moistening, too. The throb of her clit and the ache of her cruelty drive are as one.

Van's still unnamed terror aside, this is a danger. To her aims and his person. The more he squirms, the more she wants to  _ play _ with him, not just listen.

And that's not what she wants, not right now, so she prods him on. Her finger thwaps his nose, her brows furrow, and her gaze grows displeased. The sting says everything she doesn't have to.

Swiftly, wincing, the First Murderer finds focus, at last. "When I surrendered, they became far more content," he says, vaguely gesturing with a hand.

"They just passed me around-- so I escaped them. That's… how I know. Or rather, how I guessed."

"More, Van."

He nods in frightened jolts. "It had to be a guess. Something-- something went wrong, or rather, awfully right, when my children mixed with them.

His eyes are flicking back and forth, but from memory and thought, the two ravens circling his not-yet-corpse. "Maybe directly, maybe over time. They were strong, and swift, and absolutely impossible to put off a trail, except by my genius, of c--- Sorry."

Swallowing heavily, Van quiets-- and offers his body up to her corrections.

_ I guess you really did want to earn those spankings instead of make me happy.  _ She's disappointed.  _ Your genius  _ nothing _ unless I tell you to genius! _

Slowly, keeping her instinctive rage to no more than trembles, Courtney spreads his thighs with her left hand. What not-quite-human strength there is in his quads offer about as little resistance to her as loose sand.

_ What do I want, what do I want… _ Really, it's more a question of how much dessert with which to treat herself. Her pointer fingernail scrapes over the sensitive flesh along the insides.

The hint translates well enough. Despite the body-quaking terror, Van forces himself to hold his legs wide. The flare of terror in his eyes makes a sudden rush for them both-- of her Hunger, and of his trance.

Nodding sternly, she gives him a stinging swat of her palm on each inner thigh and then pulls her hand out of his lap once more. He cries out, but takes his correction like a good fucktoy. For that matter, taking it seems to simply make him more ready, his breathing steadying and quivers fading from him.

"No egotism, Van," Courtney warns. "It makes me want to  _ squish _ ."

_ Interesting that I don't seem to want to push him to more fear, but that's further evidence for my thesis. _

Given that the sudden flex of her arms brings out giant bicep peaks against his back and in front of his eyes-- and that those peaks are once again bigger than his whole thighs-- Van gets her point very quickly. He gives her a faint smile, and there's a hint of bliss in his tone.

"I-- I understand, mistress," he says softly. Sadly, his recollections don't get to the point anything like quickly at all.

"They hunted with senses like the Man of Steel, yes, but they didn't have his strength. Not when we met," he amends his earlier assertion.

"They were powerful enough to throw back megafauna only with difficulty then. By the time I... saw their descendents tormenting the demigods of the Bronze Age, malicious and insatiable, they had become strong enough to be nightmares. Only fear, or perhaps respect, for the gods kept them from plundering every male they came across, and yet…"

Her left hand raises again. She isn't too pleased to note that he squeezes his legs together reflexively, bouncing his achingly stiff shaft around, but gives him the chance to obey. "And yet, they were nowhere near as forceful as mantraps like Candy Mandy or Iron Khay."

Courtney knows those names. She was a member of the Pact, after all, and Candy Mandy truly was and almost certainly  _ is _ the worst of the worst.  _ That's whose world I'm going out into. _

_ Whose world I'm joining, at least in part. Yay. Go me. _

His next words are rushed. He inhales deeply with some difficulty, and she feels his traps convulse and quiver to stiffness on her right leg. All the while, his quads and calves do their best to approximate tightness on her left.

It's a very rough approximation, and Van knows it. "Or…" He bites his lip. "Anywhere even  _ near  _ someone like… you."

His gulp of fear is audible. It stiffens her nipples against his still-trembling but still-caressing fingers; makes her skin redden with pleasure. Of course, the fear is more pleasuring by far.

"There," Courtney coos, and eagerly chews on her lower lip. Her hand still comes in, but this time she just leaves a red mark with her nail, and not with her hands.

"Obedience-- eventually. Lack of ego--  _ mostly _ .. You'll learn, Van, I promise. You've got some bad habits, but you  _ will _ learn."

The coo becomes a growl. "I'll make sure of it." She stresses the 'sure' into a near-snarl, and stretches her palm out to rub over the scratches she marked him with.

"Now-- I think I need to keep you satisfying me, shouldn't I?" Courtney's grin broadens as she moans with anticipated delight. "Otherwise you seem to forget that's the priority."

_ At least I don't have to re-teach you about taking liberties. _ His hands twitch, but he doesn't try anything like groping her or something. Nothing more than her nips without her order.

_ It's kind of cute. _

_ Honestly-- Van  _ is _ cute when he stops thinking of himself as having anything even remotely like control of the situation. When he thinks slave, not supervillain. _

_ It's a good sign! _ For his survival. For her pleasure.

"You're a boy. Don't argue. It's not about age. You're a boy, and boys love tits."

He doesn't argue, and not merely because he wants his limbs intact.

She smirks. "And I want you to get used to serving me. So I want you getting up close and personal with mine." 

Van bows his head. "Ah-- as you w… as you command."

She chuckles, and scrapes her nails along his back. His cry of pain is low, as is the shallowness of the bleeding line she leaves. She explores the length of his back, from the small to the base of his neck.

Once there, she tilts him around towards the front of her right tit. Her nipple is-- huge. As big as her fist.

_ Much _ bigger than his.

Slowly, Courtney inches his head closer, and closer to the crinkled flesh. "I'm getting horny again," she purrs, the vibration in it slowly raising to a growl.

"And you just keep slipping a bit. You said they  _ weren't  _ like me. I'm hearing guilt in your voice."

Holding him centimeters in front of the stiffness, she continues. "I want to know  _ why _ ." He squirms wildly in her grip, getting a harsh laugh for his troubles.

There's nothing of kindness in it at all.

Van goes still, as though paralyzed. Nearly as stiff as the nipple she threatens him with. Gaze flitting back and forth between the beautiful nub and her beautiful eyes, he is lost..

She holds him in the wilderness of waiting. A desert of desire. Left with nothing to do but writhe and await her will.

"And I want to know what you thought you were going to do to  _ me _ ." The more Courtney growls, the more he shrinks from her stiff nipple, into the "embrace" of her hand behind his head. "Unless you want to be giving my nip head for an hour or three, you're going to answer me while you do your best imitation of a handjob on it."

_ Since you didn't fucking get the point about permission before! _

"Yes, Courtney," Van mumbles. His hands come up again, fingers supple from long years of practice manipulating. The intensity of her sadism Hunger lowers as he submits.

Certainly, by the time his hands are on her areola, they're already worshipful and reverent against her flesh. That adoration satiates her sadism with almost no pain at all. The strokes make her sigh with pleasure, her pussy beginning to respond-- and thankfully, it doesn't take her glare to get him speaking.

"I suppose I should start from my escape," he tells her, forcing himself not to mutter. "It's… probably at least--"

His eyes flick over to Courtney's left hand briefly, and he swallows. The only reason she  _ doesn't _ punish him again is that his own hands continue to squeeze and tug at her fat nipple, fingers pressing as hard into the nub as her strength permits. "It's probably my fault that most of your foremothers hate men."

_ Oooh, that would be a reason I might wanna tear you apart. _ She doesn't; she just quirks an eyebrow, and Van babbles on quite quickly. "Or did-- I didn't really keep track of them very well, after the civil war."

_ Huh. He doesn't realize that I'd be triple-Pulsed if I'd had the inheritance of a Hunter before. I'm… smarter than Vandal Savage. That… that.. _

_ Honestly isn't very difficult, it seems, but oh my yes, does get my little babe in the boat turning on the motor! _

"Mmm, little Van," Courtney purrs, running her fingers through his hair. The scent of her arousal wreathes around them both _. _

The sensation of superiority gets Courtney's cunny clenching far harder than his only-adequate nipple-pleasing. The dazed look of confusion makes it even more delicious. Makes  _ him _ even more delicious.

Part of the differential isn't even his fault. Even when he grips hard on her huge teat with both hands, it can hardly be called pinching, after all. And calling his hardest yank a tug is being generous-- her tit is just too heavy, and he can barely gain purchase in the hardness of her nipple.

_ Which makes sense; to give a tug job requires a tug boat, and he's more like a krill to my aircraft carrier. _

That her breast alone is mightier than Van is a pleasure all its own, though, one that she eagerly enjoys to supplement his feeble attempts. Her sex shamelessly soaks the concrete dust beneath her.  _ Shameless is my new body image, dammit. _

_ I'm not going to ever be ashamed of my body again. No-- I am  _ proud _ of how fucking hot I am! The most anyone will get is politeness. _

_ Well, asterisk on that. I  _ really _ don't want to be naked in front of Pat and mom. And _

_ I  _ want _ to want to respect their comfort levels. I hope.  _ If she doesn't want it, it won't happen, unless there are women out there more powerful than she.

And  _ those _ are almost basically guaranteed to either be Candy Mandy… Or be just like her. Including her, if she isn't careful.

Meanwhile, as his fingers scrabble for purchase and pleasure on her Van-conquering breast, he continues. "Once I escaped, I was determined never to be taken again."  _ Oh, honey... _

She quirks an eyebrow, and he coughs. "You… and the Pulse… have changed my plans for--ermphrfgl!"

Absent-mindly, Courtney shoves the back of his head forward, right when he had his mouth the widest. She jams her nipple in close, forcing his jaws apart wider and wider. Little sparks of pleasure flare as she forces him to deepthroat all the way, bringing his lips to her areola.

_ Heh, look at how far his jaw is distending. That reminds me, those bitches said Al left them stretched… Given the size of his costume's crotch, I think I'm thicker than even he was… _

_ Him, I will forgive as I will no other. So long as he is returned to me!  _ She misses her Albert something terrible, and all the hate and all the wrath that he will be forever forgiven she will lay down a thousandfold upon anyone who keeps him from her.

But since that's probably not Van's fault, and she doesn't want him getting distracted, she'll wait until she's been better satiated to torture him to make sure.

Courtney looks down at him, quirking one eyebrow and hissing, " _ Destroyed _ your plans, Van!" The fat nub, so pliant to her, easily holds his mouth wide.

His teeth are just enough to add a pleasant bit of pinch at last; sadly; she has to be so careful not to break them.

The pain of it and the humiliation tame her First Fucktoy  _ right _ quick. Instead of struggling to get away from her facefucking breast, his hands are stroking and caressing her areola, pleading with his fingertips.  _ Feels so good! _

Squirming beneath him like some great-grandmother of Kaa shifting in her own coils, she squeezes her ass and core tight. The flush of arousal spreads, and her heat almost brands Van.  _ I'm getting quite a gorge on his suffering here. _

"De-stroy-ed," Courtney enunciates slowly, licking her lips and letting her fondling fingers have free rein over his body. Or rather-- free reign. 

She plays with his body like the piece of meat he is for her. Her lewd caresses and obscenely possessive gropes force him to respond with writhes and lust. Lust so powerful she doesn't even have to get near his cum-soaked groin to make his balls tighten and his tool throb.

So she doesn't, and lets Van feel the bare burn of yearning.

"You don't have plans any more, Van.  _ I _ have plans. I have demands, requirements, desires."

Courtney's well-beaten fucktoy stiffens, but nothing, not even his body in sum, is anything like as stiff as her nipple. Nothing like so stiff as her  _ tongue _ , stroking along her lips. They both know it.

"Your only desire will be to  _ serve _ . You execute. You obey. You may invent and plot, yes-- but only to suit  _ my _ goals."

With a mental apology to her clit again for teasing it, she pops Van's mouth off her nipple and glares at him. "I have  _ replaced _ your plans. Am I clear?"

"Uh… uh…" He's left babbling for a moment. The tilt of Courtney's head and the force of her vicious stare push him rapidly to coherence.

Or something closer to it, anyway. "You-- yes," he gibbers.

"Your plans. You have destroyed my plans." Van shudders, quaking in her embrace from only a little rough handling.

His hands go back to scooping around and squeezing, "tugging" their best at the sensitive pink flesh, crinkly and goosebumped with the stimulation. "You're so much  _ more _ than they were-- than they ever were! You're so much more powerful, so much more demanding--"

It's only the predatory dilation of Courtney's eyes that keeps him from screaming then, like a mouse that thinks an eagle's talons might simply have landed around him. He knows better. The pleasure of that knowledge makes her toes curl and the soft plush of her perfect bubble butt squirm over the ground again.

"I can't… possibly… you drive me… I was so desperate to escape them. All I can think about now is surviving you. Propitiating you."

"And?"

"Pleasing you," Van moans, and to her delight, doesn't hang his head. He just stares up at her, and her breast.

When she nods, he kisses slowly along the immense nipple, nuzzling at it for forgiveness. It doesn't take him long, like that. He knows not to speak now, shifting his head to the left, then right.

He squirms in Courtney's lap, re-situating himself not for his comfort-- which would not have ended well-- but to better worship and adore her nipple. His palms run over the soft, heavy mound, pressing in as much as he can.

It's not much-- his triceps are trembling and she can "smell" the burn in his muscle as he throws more force than he really has to spare into the so-called squeeze. Which is wise, for once.

A surrender that hurts him-- that's the way to please his owner. She lets out a short, gasping moan, lightly climaxing onto the concrete yet again. It's as close to forgiveness as he's going to get.

Closing his eyes briefly, Van steadies himself, but dares not stop curling his fingers around the nipple to which he's been assigned. Even this, even when trying to steady himself, he continues to serve and service, jerking off her nipple as though it was the strap-on she's already planning for him. Licking it, kissing it and sucking around the edges as best he can.

Before Courtney can grow too impatient, he shudders, forcing himself out of his fear and into his assignment. "They were terrifying enough," he whispers meekly, barely able to meet her eyes.

"My hips were literally cracking-- not from their strength, which I wasn't far behind, but simply from overuse. So."

There's a twitch of said hips, but not unexpectedly. After all, he has to be able to at least smell the sudden increase in musk as her sex gushes again. Van knows how much she's going to enjoy it when he's breaking beneath her far the faster.

So he shrugs, trembling. "I waited until I had my current… keepers… well satiated, after several days worth of obedience." The word doesn't quite strangle in his throat, but comes close.

He stops for a moment as though shocked at what he's revealing.  _ Aw, poor guy. Thinks I'm going to be offended about the escape-obedience thing. _

Before he can babble too much, Courtney traps the head of his throbbing tool between two fingers. "You obeyed until you could escape. But that was them."

"Not me." She squeezes her fingers, and he sobs, still desperately pleasuring her nub. "What would happen if I killed you, Van?"

"Re… reborn…" His head rolls and his tongue lolls, his eyes going as vague as his mind must be.

"And if you used that to run away?"

"My suffering would be legendary, even in hell."

Courtney's clit finds that a proper quote, even if he's the only one who's going to be pierced. "Good boy. Back to work."

There's a fairly piteous whine from his throat, though, rather than the stream of half-weasel attempts to justify the past she'd expected. She doesn't need to chastise him, though. He's moving before her head can even cock in his direction

"I'm afraid, Courtney," Van admits soon enough, gasping. He is, at that; it rises up to make her inhale and moan deeply.

Like the scents of a sacrifice, rising to the heavens, though his paradise lies below.

"Not… just of you. I'm afraid if I tell you what I did, I'll flinch away from the telling. I'll anger you."

"Of course you will," Courtney replies, bemused. Looking up at her with sudden terror, the far-smaller Cro-Magnon can't keep himself from looking between the giant bulge of just her right bicep, even at rest-- and how spindly his is by comparison.

She chuckles quietly, her huge knockers knocking him around, battering his hands aside with just her good cheer.

"Of course you'll make me mad, Van. You're going to do that a lot for a few months." She leans down and picks her toy up again, pulling him closer.

GIven simple logistics, she lays Van's naked body atop her right breast for the moment.  _ See, I can still be merciful. He's smearing his thin little jizz on my sideboob this time. _

_ Definitely at the right height for him to lick it up. _ Then she tilts him over, and begins to slurp her own orgasmic release from his face again. She moans at the taste.

Of her pussy, of his suffering-- all so  _ sweet. _ So tangy.  _ But you're my little tart, Van. _

In between long licks, Courtney explains, "Just a few months. That's all it's going to take me to break you down permanently, Van."

He moans, whimpering and squirming aimlessly. Save to offend her. Offend her enough to make her pussy moisten in anticipation and simply from wrath both.

"You want to hate it," Courtney sneers. "Conqueror. Tyrant.  _ King _ ."

Her hands hold him to wriggling alone while she laps up still more of her rich-tasting musk from his face.

Trying to respond gets him nowhere; he just wriggles in her embrace like a worm on a hook. "But… it gets you hard. I can feel your dick drooling there, against a breast you can barely make a dimple in with your full weight grinding against me."

_ That _ makes Van freeze. She can't help herself; she opens her mouth to its widest extent before licking him from chin to forehead. "You're making more work for yourself…"

His prick splurts at the reminder.  _ Such fun! _ Courtney grins with horrible beauty and puffs a "little" kiss at him.

She leans closer. And closer. Nearly nose to nose with Van, she purrs, "Oh-- and it's turning you on that you'll have to polish your own leavings from me."

He rocks his head back and forth. Not a no, not a yes, just terrified panic. The warmth and arousal flush spreads; soon, it will be closer to him.

They're both wondering whether or not he'd survive such heat.

"You  _ know _ it, Van," she insists, teasing her the terrifying strength of her fingertips over him. Not even so light as bone-crushing pressure.

As soft as her breath, just short of causing bruises.

Courtney's hands play over him further. Just one hand is big enough to fondle both of his trembling pecs, while the other squeezes his quivering butt nearly from hip to hip. He's caught on her breast alone-- but it's her hands that do the owning.

"You know you'll anger me… you know you'll enjoy it when I punish you… and you know that you're already looking forward to the day that if I asked if you'd rather give up immortality or be free of me and my daughters-to-be forever…"

"I--!"

"You're looking forward to the day you can honestly say you'd die forever-- for any one of us." She rotates Van around with both hands, less from need than simply for ease of maneuverability. Ruthlessly, she licks and sucks on his hair, stealing her essence back from him.

He shakes and moans as she grooms his hair back into something she considers more presentable.

"Shh," Courtney says gently. "You can't yet, honey. I know, I know."

"But you  _ want _ to." She laughs at Van, who simply hangs his head, crying lightly. it sends such lovely shivers up and down her spine.

"There, there," she tells him, tucking him back into her lap. "Clean me, slave."

The order's enough. The title sears the Cro-Magnon ex-conqueror, and Courtney feels his pitiful muscles tighten up in resentment… But he instantly begins to lick up his own juices once more.

"Good. So. We've established you escaped."

The poor bitch's head needs the re-centering, so she prods him verbally. "You must have done something really shitty, Van. You're why they hate men, aren't you?"

"Yes, Courtney."

"But not just you."

"No, Courtney."

"Deets."

Van swallows reflexively, drinking down his collection of his own cum. In between the long licks, he explains quietly. "Their duties to their totems were paramount. Only their honorbound oaths were even close."

"I… I got them ensnared in the inspirations for the true epic of Gilgamesh. The king you know of was just… following a pattern established in antiquity."

He sobs a bit. "I'm afraid," he admits.

His eyes burn with his shame, but Courtney gives him no hint of mercy to soothe his terror.

Mercy is a coin he hasn't earned.


	22. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vandar Adg. Fifty thousand years old. Cain. The First Murderer. History's Greatest Tyrant. The First Cannibal. For fifty thousand years Vandal Savage has haunted the civilizations of man, sometimes building them up, sometimes conquering, and sometimes...
> 
> Just setting it all on fire to watch it burn. Especially when his pride was involved. Humiliated and dominated by members of the then-fully-gendered Hunters' Lodges Feminine, he involved them in the dramas of the newly created gods, and ended up turning them against the totems and the Lodges Masculine, utterly exterminating the latter.
> 
> And turning them on males of all kinds. Thanks to his manipulation, for forty of those same millennia, the Hunters have raped, tortured, destroyed, and birthed new generations to do the same on the most powerful men they can hold, and have turned the others into easily-controlled, large-cocked slaves. The ultimate end, then, is the Pulse, activating the genetics of more than 100,000 women and turning them into post-superhumans.
> 
> Courtney is prepared to reward him as her concubine-vizier...
> 
> And thereby punish him forever.

In the literal grip of his massive owner once more, Vandal Savage has been ordered to explain Hunters.

Rather, he's been commanded to tell his part of their story. At fifty thousand years of age, there are very few generational stories he  _ isn't _ a part of. But for the Hunters, he had a more sinister role.

For that matter, he doesn't even know how much of a role he had. But it will be enough. For now.

Courtney Whitmore, three meters tall and every last millimeter muscled-- saving only the plush padding around her hips and ass, and the pure plushness of her voluminous tits-- has claimed him, and wants answers. Honestly, most of the time, she finds him pretty cute.  _ And then I remember why so many people are willing to believe he's Cain. _

_ … other than the mark he passed on to Ms. Montoya, I mean. _

Her cold silence is only accompanied by the steely wrap of her sculpted arm around his back. The inexorable weight pushes him in closer to her breast, and moving him from her now-clean side-tit over to her nipple once more. But she gives no encouragement nor shelter from his fear.

His hands respond first, going back to moving back and forth rapidly over the huge nub. There's a moment of intimidation-- of shock-- when he realizes the beautiful nub has a greater girth than even his relaxed upper arm. A feeling not unlike addiction surges in the fifty-thousand year old villain.

Compelled at first, but soon with a feverish enthusiasm, Van finds himself pumping back and forth over the length. Her nipples are far thicker, but they're only a little shorter than his cock. The member in question brushes against the underside of his gigantic tormentor's breast, held by its weight.

She smirks. By its weight-- and a heat far greater than his throbbing can create! He looks up, but there's no mercy in Courtney's eyes, save perhaps negative.

"Feels like masturbating a better you, hon?" she says with a sneer. "You're making me  _ Hungry _ again, little man."

She doesn't need the weight of her hand on him now. He feels it in that sneer; suffers the pain a thousand times over from merely her impatience. As he adjusts to pleasuring her nipple, the sneer becomes a predatory smile.

The tug and rub and press of his hands over the oversized pinkness is not enough, no matter how much her slit clenches and moistens. He must  _ answer _ . Blinking away his tears, Van nods.

The weight of the memory itself and the fear of Courtney Whitmore war, but something of his ancient fortitude remains.

"I got them involved in the politics of the newly ascended gods," he says softly. "The true details are-- convoluted."

Wordless permission is granted as her rolling shoulders shrug.  _ I will want to know everything. But for now.. _ . 

She doesn't even have to clear her throat. Even her patience prods him to move on for now. "I made it seem like the males of the family… approved of the patriarchal developments in the Fertile Crescent."

Van winces. "Like they were cutting a deal with the new-risen gods," he says, and looks off to the side.

"They weren't, were they?" Courtney growls. She may like seeing him expose his throat like that, but she was a member of the Pact, the women who hunted the Hunters.

She knows the cost of his  _ manipulations. _ If he's lucky, she'll never forgive him too much.  _ But I really can't forgive him enough to find a way to permanently snuff him. _

_ And I won't. _ She stares at him viciously, waiting for him to answer. Needless to say, he hurries through his terror of that growl.

"Never. The males were just as devoted. But just as prickly and quick to anger if their honor was questioned."

Another sigh shakes Van as he realizes just how  _ badly _ his few successes fucked him over. "It worked so easily. I was hoping they'd just kill each other off, or the Furies would finish the few survivors."

"I don't know  _ how _ the women both won and survived, but they were cursed thereafter." Shivering, Van tightens his grip, and while it mostly hurts him, it's acceptable. "Those-- and the gods rising to defend themselves-- drove the Old Hunters into the shadows."

Faster and faster he jerks Courtney's big, throbbing,  _ vast  _ nipple off.  _ Finally, he understands. Pleasure and pain are linked. _

_ If he submits to my pleasure, he can spare himself pain. Some, anyway… Or earn more, when that's what I want him to desire. _

So he does.

Fear forces him to more skilled adoration of Courtney's nipple. He learns quickly; his arrogant presumption of eternal seniority has this truth to it: he has  _ some _ experience he can apply to any situation when pressed.

His thumbs stroke together under the fat, weighty juiciness of the nipple, fingers pressing together at the top. It's a pleasant little charge, that makes her lush titflesh goosepimple and sensitized. His nipple-masturbation soon becomes his meditation, his breath slowing and his words becoming more even.

"Anyway. That's why," he says with a little, sobbing breath.

Like he expects to get hit, and still fears it nearly as much as he wants it. "Your ancestors believed that each side was betraying the other. That they were breaking faith with the totems-- that they had compromised their sacred oaths."

A memory of a Pact training seminar, when  _ Shiv _ of all people was teaching her, face white. "That's the  _ only _ thing that you can ever rely on from them. Otherwise, beat them into unconsciousness and I'll wield the knife."

No one had ever thought Stargirl could kill. It was just assumed; they never even asked, like they did for Artemis.  _ To be fair, I couldn't, not when I  _ was _ Stargirl. _

Van goes on, oblivious to her internal recriminations. "So each believed of the other that they had blasphemed to the unthinkable, and there could be no negotiation. No quarter."

"And so they killed each other, viciously. Only the women survived. Those who had more daughters bred more often, and on those few occasions that any males  _ did _ get born, they were ritually sacrificed."

Pressed by fear-- fear and his lust for the thick scent of her slit soaking the ground again-- Vandal Savage gives her sensitive nipple a double handjob, like… _Like--_ _I don't know, maybe he had to get a giant off or something?_

The little slut doesn't know  _ why _ Courtney's eyes briefly dilate with predatory anticipation.  _ Heh… When I do lactate, he's going to look so cute with a milk money shot, he really is. _

It's a tiny thought, and a tiny moment; he doesn't even have time to fear her eyes. For her part, some small part of her will always think of her property as cute. The majority of her...

"You're wrong, you know." Her cold words fall on him like lions. They jerk his spine straight up as though she was yanking his head back.

Without fail, though panic rockets through him, his fingers do not deviate. It saves him another concussion-- for now, at least.

"I'm not so much angry as  _ disgusted, _ Van. How often have you done this? To how many families?"

Courtney has to ruthlessly set Internal Courtnies, the little subdivisions of herself, grappling for control of her muscles. Enormous bulges push up-- in opposite directions. Flexors against extensors make her wrists seem to double in size. Once again, the little shit has her wanting to kill him.

_ No. Not kill. _ Her fists could do so much worse than that, even without the swell of rippling muscle against muscle upon muscle against muscle. As her triceps swell like the lower half of glacial icebergs, the above-water  _ mountains _ of her biceps loom, working towards being bigger than his curled-up  _ body _ .

Van shrinks away from her but it's not enough. Her tits slap back at him, and he cries out, but it's not enough. Not to stop the ferocious wrath that makes it looks like her pecs are being inflated.

Only not with air. With  _ beef. _ Solid, meaty expansion, rippled and rippling and ripped.

She doesn't pause, though. From 'families' to the next breath is almost no time at all. Her whole body grows more muscular so fast it almost crushes him just from the contact of his legs.

"How many times have you forced mothers to kill their own children, or their husbands? How many husbands have slit their wives' throats?  _ How many, _ Van?"

He might have preferred the concussion to her outraged interrogation.

"I don't know, Courtney, please!" He can't even hold up his hands for protection, but she feels him come close to trying. Panic wars with awed terror.

Her stare holds him, and, then, silently orders his hands to slump back to his sides.  _ It's probably for the best. That rocked my juiciness down to default levels. _

Courtney considers him. The supposed First Tyrant, drained of even hope.  _ No. _

_ No death, but still. No mercy. He has to come to grips with something other than how quickly he learned to give a good nipplejob. _

So she stares on. The snarl on her lips fades into a chill, thin neutrality, but her bright blue eyes demand an answer. It stiffens him.

Slowly, Van's shoulders square; his back straightens, and his chin comes up. Dwarfed as he is by the gigantic Hunter , he manages to summon back up some measure of dignity.

At the very least, dignity due the dead.

"Millions," Van says slowly, as though swallowing the concept. "From manipulation alone."

"Millions dead, billions ruined. It resonates. Perhaps… Even trillions."

  
_ Ah, there we go. _ She's not surprised at how little the awareness of tens of thousands of years of perpetual horror from the self-titled only adult in the room; she just presses him. "Including tonight."

"The Rite… I only heard the summaries, and you've evidently read the  _ Manuals _ more closely than I. But yes."

His shoulders lose some of their stiffness, but his spine remains rigid. As though he was marching into hell instead of sitting in a beautiful woman's lap.  _ I suppose for him and for this gorgeous woman, the difference is less than you might think. _

His eyes search out into the darkness, into another world and another time. "It is inconceivable. It shouldn't have been possible. What's happened to you, even if you are the only one on such a stage--"

"There were eighty-five more in New York alone. Most of them moving faster than Jay Garrick, and one of the weaker ones downed Stonemarch like he was made of soft, downy fluff. Go on."

Van shakes in her embrace yet again. "It is inconceivable-- but it is." He waves a hand, aimlessly.

"The power that the totems bestowed was limited, deliberately constrained." His lips twist, some faint humor flitting across them. "I suppose my metahuman bastards did  _ something _ but I'm fairly certain that taking the majority of credit in your presence would be neither honest nor wise."

"And out of my presence. Why constraints? If they had to perform some critical duties-- I'm not calling you a liar, Van. Just curious."

There's grimness to match his fear of her. "What's been done to you cannot be repealed by any force I know of-- not the gods, not science, not all the angels Presence or all the hordes born out of the Great Darkness."

He shrugs. "The Presence might, but otherwise? Your foremothers had  _ limits _ because they were made to hunt those who stole powers from others. An immunity was necessary."

"So-- no Parasite."

"No Parasite. No Black Alice," he agrees, but then he actually manages to surprise Courtney.

"No  _ Waverider _ , for that matter-- this timeline can't be undone anymore, nor changed such that the Rite doesn't exist. And now…"

Suddenly Van stiffens. "Mistress, may I have a moment of ego, please?" he asks softly.

That-- intrigues her. She almost just looks into his brain to figure it out, but it's a step in the right direction. "Yes; go on."

Again, he surprises Courtney. Tears roll down his cheeks. "I set this in motion and I let it go on unattended and now…"

"Yes," she confirms for him, chuckling wickedly. "Complete the motion, little man."

Shuddering, shaking like a leaf, he writhes, then stiffens completely. "I made my every plot null-- I broke it all…"

"Again and again," Courtney purrs. "You must really enjoy rake in the face and knee to the balls, don't you?"

Van whines… and nods. She smirks. "Okay, moment of ego over--  _ give me the story! _ "

He's terrified, but he knows better than to let it stop him. "And now, because the Rite cannot be undone, all is chaos and war. Because I set your foremothers at their mens' throats."

"They became predators, and their lusts sexualized that." His groin clenches, pretty prick waving up at her. "They certainly weren't limited to Hunting men either."

"You're still full of will and ego, my Van."

"I am."

"I suppose I don't have to guess what you wanted tonight." Courtney's eyebrow quirks again, and her half-smile curls to follow. "And I have to wonder how many decades we'd be down here if you tried to  _ tell  _ me 'I tried to control your mind and make you do horrible things to people, especially the people you  _ love. _ '"

Van howls.

She smells the humiliation warring with the fear.  _ Honestly, he's transparent. I got the picture on his "I like to make it personal" act years back." _   
  


As he quiets, she strokes the back of his head, and pulls him over her tit entirely again. The heavy, perfect roundness is soft for him this time, letting him sink at least a bit into a depression. Shaped just for him, trapping him into her pleasure.

Courtney's voice is softly cruel. "What do you need, now?" she asks, husky and low while her hands trace possessive patterns over his bare back.

"I… need… To feel.." She sees it screamed in his body language.

_ His soul's armor is peeled, almost to the core. All he has left is numbness… _ A secret smile touches her lips, even as her fingers curl into claws on his back, warning Van to go further.

_ And I've taken numbness from you too, cutie. You are mine, Van. I'm using you to think of the human herd as something worth protecting. _

_ No staying apart from them, ever again. _

" I can't even touch this--" he says, cutting himself off in a full-body shudder. His hips don't even rut, just writhe, but it's still delicious.

So very, very delicious.  _ Am I fooling myself that there's  _ ever _ a time I can think of humans as people? _ Courtney bites her inner lip, panting softly but refusing to moan and give him an excuse to hush.

"I thought I lost shame forty-five thousand years ago, and now, it's everywhere. Everywhere!" Van's face is chilled briefly as blood drains away.

As it pales, heat is forced back in-- after all, he's mere centimeters from enough titflesh to smother him by  _ accident _ .  _ I will have no accidents, make no mistakes, and if I  _ ever  _ do… _

_ I will repay whatever I did as a debt to myself. _

With his vision full of soul-crushing beauty, his pupils flick in crazy, shifting dashes, peering through the lives and ages he's had a hand upon. "I haven't just killed my own dream-- I bought the knife used to sacrifice the hope of my entire species."

Van's hands tighten reflexively on her body, nearly as solid as stone. " _ Every  _ child… Scandal. Gods of the Sun, Scandal and Kassidy and…"

"Shh. You'll pay. You'll feel. I promise. And then--"

Courtney's bright smile widens, and at last, she feels free to groan with the pleasure his squirming and his submission brings. "Heh." Her huge hand strokes over his hip, making the enormous musculature of her arm bulge and shift like a world-serpent sized to the Milky Way…

And compacted into an arm outmassing Van's torso. Dazed, he stares up at her in silent wonder. Her hands run over Van's back, but comforting now, almost nurturing.

She chuckles, deep and low. "Yes. When I've made you pay and made you feel the consequences  _ forever _ … I'll give you something of what you wanted."

"What?"

Slowly, Courtney moves to her feet, still carrying her tiny slave easily. It's the work of a twisting, long series of motions, but casual nonetheless. Such things have become trivial now, occupying no thought at all.

Her immense legs uncross, striated surfaces rippling like water-- like roaring rivers moving through the hilly buffness of the primary muscle. From calf to quad, power unfolds and shifts. Just like her smile broadens, bright enough to light the whole cavern.

Her strength moves in sinuous motion, as though the hawser-sized fibrous masses are also pythons, nesting and swarming over each other. Her big, broad hips shimmy gracefully as she rotates her legs around. Even the clenching of interlocking webs of muscle takes on a writhe-like character, like the jiggle of her ass is spreading into the far-harder flesh of her thighs. 

It's met by the seductive sway of her hips, and the motion blossoms, muscles moving in harmony down all the way to her feet. A smooth ride, a beautiful show-- for her. It's rather rougher for the First Murderer.

Poor Van is bounced off her obliques. The way the Pulse has reshaped her, even her sides have grinding, heavily-defined masses. Nonetheless, they still smoothly follow the perfectly feminine lines of her body.

That smoothness is a delight to a lover's eye or hand, but her First Fucktoy gets more of the mass and less of the follow. In this, her side is no more gentle than, say, her upper arm. She twists a bit, bumping him onto the soft padding of her hip, but there's still a loud  _ crunch _ or three, accompanied by winces and groans.

Still, he's fit enough to be set on his own two feet, just under the shadow of Courtney's still-bouncing breasts.  _ Those do seem to take a while longer to stop than the rest of me. _ It's nothing she minds, a fairly pleasurable use of gravity, but she wants his mind on  _ her _ prize.

_ … I mean, on the prize I have in mind, not on my pussy again. Yet. _ So she gives a light counterflex from her pecs, stilling the motion instantly.

Van remains transfixed, nonetheless. She reaches down to tilt his femmecum-stained chin up, making him meet the power of her direct gaze. Eye to eye, a massive lioness staring down a little rat.

Well. Not a rat. A very slow, squishable  _ wasp. _

"I'm probably not the top of the heap, it's true," Courtney says slowly. "But the way I was  _ before _ you shot me--"

That gets him shuddering again but not, she notes with a smirk, anything less hard--

"That was about median among us, for all I could see. Not just New York City-- the three or four hundred all around the state and the next few besides.  _ After _ , well…"

She brings her left arm up slowly, palm to the ceiling. " _ Geometric _ expansion." Her left eye and the left corner of her lips quirk at poor little Vandal Savage, treating him to the same view of her bulging left arm that threatened him prior.

Courtney holds it horizontal like some fallen, frescoed column. Slowly, the curl starts. Rising like the titan she is now.

Van's eyes are locked on her muscles; but she watches him.

Her hand curls first, into the same fist that nearly fractured spacetime to free her. "This isn't the threat this time, Van," Courtney whispers.

Her toy moans, remembering just the power the appearance of her bicep had over him.

It's all the more now, memory and reality both abusing his overwhelmed mind. The fist turns inward, and the fibers tug and pull at each other. The giant mace-like breadth of her forearm grows, in both the "haft" from the wrist up and the "ball" from elbow down, meeting in the middle.

Chiseled ridges rise, coils of muscle tightening over muscle to pull all the harder, yet it is only her fist that's bent so far. Subtle control from just the wrist and elbow makes the bulky, powerful mass almost dance, flexing and bobbing in just sub-parts. Then she begins to  _ really _ pump.

As the banded might of her bicep hauls back on her elbow, her left pec pulls on  _ it _ , bouncing her huge breast forward even as the striated pecs behind and above bulges dangerously. The peak itself rises… and rises… Soon, the individual bands and tight-packed grooves of the muscle itself and its tertiary consorts almost look like entirely new muscles on top of muscles, simply from the compounded strength.

Only when her knuckles nearly touch the tip of her bicep does Courtney stop pulling. It doesn't take nearly so long as, say, Van might to even get close to the same. Even her sweet Atom Smasher couldn't have done the same without a painful extra bend, for all his pretty buffeness.

For all his pretty buffness, of course, Al was--  _ is! _ her mind insists-- no Hunter.

Van is staggered by just the sight of it again. His hands are clenching and reaching towards his still-dripping cock in agonized need to give her sensual strength its due, yet held at bay by his fear of her terrifying rage and awful beauty. Knees bent slightly, stretched out wide, he looks like he's been grabbed halfway through attempting to kneel.

_ He has been, of course-- by me, touching him or not. I haven't commanded a kneel, so he won't. _

Her voice is deep of necessity, her barrel chest requiring it. But her tone is soft. "Van," she says.

"Yes, Courtney!" he groans, trying to pull himself together enough to stand-- and failing. "I don't understand…"

"I know, Van. That's why this isn't  _ a _ threat, this time." Courtney's smile, still quirked to the left, broadens as she looks directly over at her beautifully buff arm.

With an exaggerated yet graceful motion, she flourishes her right arm towards the left, then reaches over to stroke the back of her right fingers over the gigantic left bicep mountain.

"A threat, no," Van mumbles. "You must mean… You mean…"

He can't turn his head from the glorious, fractal perfection of her arm to look at her smile. Yet, even without a Hunter's spherical sense-field, his peripheral vision will show him the fondness on her lips. She's actually glad.

The way some of the lines of pain evaporate from his face tell Courtney it does.

Just like the rumble of the ruined concrete beneath tells him her toes are curling and scraping with her delight. She smiles. "It's a promise-- and an offer."

"For… beyond the bedroom," he asks, understandably seeking details.

Courtney nods. "I may not be the  _ top _ top bitch of this new world," she tells him with a chuckle. "Still, I'm going to be a pretty big bigwig."

Her wavy hair curls against her rugged back and over rippling shoulders, trailing over her outstretched left arm and then down in front. Pleased, she bounces her head back and forth, letting the wild, untamed hair dance around over her naked form. Even her happy sigh sets it floating free still more.

Listening to her toy's groans-- seeing his hips rut back and forth like she was already demanding he perform-- inspires her. Her smile unquirks, but she pumps her fist  _ harder _ , having to pull it back up to get out of the way.

Redoubled by the same strange multistage flexion that lets Courtney harden her heavy melons, her bicep just keeps getting bigger and bigger. As it rises, layers of taut, banded grooves pack in on top of each other. Her eyes open wider, the sapphire burning like true heat.

Blue heat, and the whites of her eyes even hotter.

Still, despite the expansive flex, the whole bicep retains its coherent symmetry with a more rational form, and an unending, compelling beauty. For this is true: a Hunter's appearance is no less a power than their senses. No less a weapon, either.

Van is certainly compelled. He cries out her name again, hands moving towards his groin with a pitful urgency that he only barely manages to contain. His fingers are outstretched towards the aching hardness, his prick throbbing at her with lewd devotion.

"Don't touch right now, Van," she says, charmed… but merciless. "You're not worthy, yet. Wait until I have a use for you."

The show of her strength goes on, the already titanic bicep growing as far as she can manage. He just groans, but nods, trying-- repeatedly-- and failing to straighten up.  _ It's adorable-- a little I-gotta-jerk-it dance! _

Courtney lets none of that half-pitying, half-dominant endearment show. Instead, she makes her position clear. "I will be a power." 

She feels it within her. The certainty of a brief slice of vision has some arrogance to it, but even a single second would have been enough for it to have truth, too. Besides, she is a Hunter.

Arrogance is a part of her "birth"right.

"I will remain, mistress of all I can hold. You, a wretch, forever. Whatever's kept you alive will do so just to please and pleasure  _ me _ ."

_ That _ thought does not please. An ugly little necessity-- but Courtney will care for her property. So she grimaces and forces matters forward.

"And I  _ will _ find a less disgusting way of perpetuating you than letting you eat your descendents. You can be sure of that. So--"

Shaking and shuddering, Van helplessly turns his gaze this way and that. His eyes follow as though her muscles were pulling him on ropes of air, from her bicep peak to her smirking face. Where she leads, he follows, fearful yet still compelled by the power in her.

So on she goes. An oath must be made. He has little choice, but she will make it anyway.

"So here's how it is.  _ I _ will have a hand in reshaping the world. Maybe a whole arm."

Not laughing this time, Courtney gestures at the endless harsh bounty of her bicep again. "You have a chance to be one of my fingertips. I'm not going to lie to you. You'll never shake this world that has grown and gone on far without you, but you can help  _ me  _ to do so."

With measured patience, she unflexes, letting the immense potency subside in unwinding, uncoiling slowness. She has the time, centuries to come. And yet she doesn't.

Her family is in danger. All of her families. The family of blood, the family of oath, and the family of choice.

"It will take time to rebuild the world." She smiles down at Van, now letting the fondness free. "But you're used to time, aren't you, little guy?"

He shudders, nodding helplessly as he begins to actually drool, watching her muscles in action. Courtney grins.  _ I'd better help, I think-- or he'll break my rules again. _

Once her arm has returned to its merely "colossally chiseled" rest state, she looms over him with an abrupt zoom. Before he can even cry out, she's knelt forward and into his personal space again, the crushing power of her left quad almost to him now. Almost, but not quite.

Instead, it's Courtney's huge hand and arm that's jammed up close and personal. Very personal. Her hand takes his turgid, twitching tool in her gentlest vice once more; the power stuffed tightly beneath tense skin grabbing any focus left over. His yelp gets her juicing just as his precum begins to flow, so sweet in his helplessness.

Enjoying him, she amuses herself, pressing her thumb and fingers all over the tiny twenty-five centimeters of caveman cock. Her hand has complete mastery of his nerves, of the hardened flesh, teasing pleasure through in precise lavisciousness. A squeeze here, a stroke to follow-- she easily controls exactly how much lube he produces, catching it in her palm, and then rubbing it back onto him.

She can see the pleasure melt Van's stress, though his tiny body convulses every time she thumbs a nerve point or pinches off the connection between balls and dick, forcing him to forgo cumming. Nonetheless, as he pants, lolling his tongue, and letting his eyes roll back in his head, she can see the submissive's euphoria spreading. Each time she snuffs out another near-climax and builds his pleasure again, she can see his nerves and his hormones sending signals of joyous warmth.

"There we go. Much less difficult for me to  _ manage _ you. Poor pretty thing. Do you want to obey me?"

"Yes, Courtney."

Smug and purring, Courtney squeezes and strokes his captive length. Her palm curls around the middle of his member, then inches along it in steady, alternating gripping. She stimulates him expertly with just her hand, running it up and down along the stiff weakness of his shaft and bringing utter ecstasy to him in his helplessness.

"Do you want to serve me?"

"Yes,  _ please _ , Courtney!" he begs.

She nods. "You will. You will reshape the world to  _ my _ specifications. Is that what you wanted?"

Van's body convulses, but her grip keeps more than just his shaft stiff. He dares not try to pull away. He does dare to please her.

"It's what I want now, Courtney," he whispers. "Or at least, I want to lose the thoughts that don't."

Courtney can't help herself this time. Still keeping his cock in pleasured prison, she leans down further, bouncing her pillowy melons around his stiff little chest. A flex of her pecs-- not too much!-- keeps him pinned in place between them, but not further injured.

The force is so light he only lets out a wincing whine, not a scream, and his eyes barely bug out at all.

Lips meet lips. Her pleasure is already stained on his, but she takes pleasure in taking them again. As her tongue flutters into his mouth, wrestling his down into submission, she begins to jerk him off faster, a bit rougher.

While she frenches Van, her fingers clasp completely around his cock and and tug it towards herself-- most of them, anyway...

  
Her pinkie keeps up a solitary vigil, flicking down to the root of his cock to stifle any attempted climax, pinning the connection between sac and shaft as well as confusing the nerves with little flicks of her fingernail.

  
" _ Good _ boy," Courtney rumbles when she breaks the kiss at last. "I'm prepared to let you be my handmaid," she tells him, laughing while her fingers fuck his cock some more.

"My hand, my sidekick, and my plotter-- but only if you learn to keep this dick disciplined without my enforcement…" She has even less pity than she has mercy.

At least for him; she's hoping that this will let her find some for others, after all.

Flick, squeeze, squeeze, flick, squeeze-- she gives Van plenty of pleasure and specifically targeted pain, just so he gets her point. As he moans, staring at her and trying his best to keep conscious, she smiles broader still. " _ And _ you need to give up your ridiculous misunderstanding of Darwin's theory."


	23. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satiated on pain and sex but still enjoying them, Courtney Whitmore still has a lot of sexualized playfulness to give. Toying with her new pet and vizier's brain is just part of that. Not physically literally, but she does see how the wires are sorted-- and how to cross them. She's just discovered a new truth, too.
> 
> It isn't an accident that he always destroyed his own plans. That he was blinded by arrogance; that he would burn it all down in a fit of pique. That his plans required everyone to act how he was certain they would, and he still made mistakes like thinking she was just a blonde cheerleader writ large before she was reborn larger still.
> 
> He's wanted this. Oh, probably not quite as intense as she has given, probably not quite as thoroughly as she does him. But he has always enjoyed being thwarted.
> 
> She'll have to train some of that out of him-- for when she wants him to serve her successfully. Thwarting can be a bedroom play and a treat.
> 
> So long as he gives her what she wants-- what she needs.
> 
> Submission and service.

Courtney Whitmore has to crouch to hold Vandal Savage by the dick. She's a giant now; her three meters of height nearly double that of the once-looming Cro-Magnon. When she does so, when she takes up his personal space, she all but looms  _ around _ him.

Not just because her immense breasts squeeze and pin around his torso. That's just the necessity of volume. The broad shoulders and broad torso setting the frame for her claiming cleavage are far vaster than he'd be, even to scale.

All of that vastness, all of that volume, is packed with enough muscle to make her resemble a craggy mountain range in miniature. A pretty mountain, but nonetheless, a mountain. Even her abs, shredded and hard, carry the rugged web of fractal musculature that grants her superiority over him.

Even her  _ ass _ , her glutes, have so much more mass and strength and definition than he is. It's hidden under smooth and wobbly perfection most of the time-- but it's there. She honestly suspects there's more tightness beneath the fleshing jiggle of her rumpcheeks, more tightness and more sculpted perfection, than his whole body.

_ Feels so  _ good _. Not just power. Not just power over him. _

_ Power, over  _ his. _ It could get intoxicating. Hah. Is! _

Courtney has come to really, truly enjoy her new body. Her ass is high on the list of perks-- she just loves showing it off. Even if her poor victim-fucktoy can't see through her body like she can, she loves showing her butt off just to herself.

So she squeezes and wriggles her hiney, making the two potent buttocks tense with her delight as she jerks his cock to unending pleasure. Theoretically unending, except that she ends it very abruptly every time she so much as smells the hormone signals going to his brain to try to orgasm.  _ Of course, he's starting to feel the pain of orgasm denial as pleasure now, too… _

_ I wonder how long it'll take to get him to think of being denied as better than being permitted? _

She plays with Van, stifling him in all sorts of ways. She taps his poor prick with expert control, making his nerves jangle the signals. Her fingers squeeze at the base, where his  _ far _ overstuffed balls try to flood their contents to his shaft.

In the middle of explaining his new life, she included some fair requirements. That he surrender his ambition to her-- well, he's a conquered muscle-addicted slut now. That's just how it is.

That he make her goals the only ones that matter is more difficult for him, but a necessity, as well.

Her fingers cuddle his twitching cock.  _ It's just so adorable, getting this close to cumming but never there. _ She has him on an uptick as she explains the facts to him.

Her fingers curl over the shaft, moist from his precum and tight with her strength, giving his prick its proper, slick treatment. She lets the ring-like clasp of her hand treat his cock to the tightest possible pussy-simulation he could hope for-- until next she shows him what her cunt can do to him in its new glory.

_ But… Mmm. Flushed darker red, so stiff it's almost as taut as the jiggliest part of my tits, all but jumping free of his control as I squeeze... If it wasn't for the fact that my body seems to crave another's participation, I'd be tempted to try to make him stay on the edge forever _ .

Van is very close now. Closer than she's ever let him thus far. His heartrate is faster, his breathing more shallow, his pupils dilated.

It's not a coincidence that she's doing this to him while making it clear that his only reason for existing, let alone acting, is to serve her and her needs. She's given him the full list of "how to be a better slave-vizier cum fucktoy, less one…"

Flick, squeeze, squeeze, flick, squeeze-- she gives Van plenty of pleasure and specifically targeted pain, just so he gets her point. As he moans, staring at her and trying his best to keep conscious, she smiles broader still. " _ And _ you need to give up your ridiculous misunderstanding of Darwin's theory."

_ Eee! He's so cute when his train of thought goes off the rails and right into my cleavage! _ Having to deal with the slowness and limited thoughts of her victim is generally a downside--  _ I wonder what it's going to be like domming another Hunter, mmm--  _ but it does carry some benefits.

_ You know, I was never the best at Bio class. But even I could figure out that "Survival of the Fittest" was talking about species! And it isn't really hard to get that 'fitness' refers to a host of qualities, not just physical strength. _

His jaw drops, and if Courtney didn't have his dick strictly in hand, it might have gone soft. The utterly stunned, poleaxed look works for him, she decides, so she whaps him on the nose with her other pointer finger, the one not engaged in keeping his cock on the ragged edge between climax and loss. "You heard me."

"You… said, but… I can't think…"

"I know you can't think right, sweetie. You're really not as good at it as you think. That's why you'll listen to me!"

"'Fittest' does not refer to just raw strength, or you wouldn't deserve anything would you?" Courtney asks, smirking. "Much less to survive."

Van can't answer with anything other than a wail, but she decides that's the affirmative for him. He'd better remember her decision, too, or she'll example all over him again. He's not enjoying this one as much before

Nonetheless, he's slowly drawn down into the trance as she edges his cock again. And surrounds his world in smooshing breastflesh.  _ He's so tasty like this... _

Shuddering and wailing, Van shows her how much he loves her tits. His squirming thrash gets her shuddering too, squeezing her breasts tighter around him. The hardness of her nipples drags along his side, bruising his flesh like they were her thumbs.

It makes her so wet she has to restrain herself from just pulling him in between her thighs then and there! After all, this is a moment for her tits to enjoy-- and for him to enjoy being her tits' plaything.

Even as they punish him. Courtney just makes a mild further flex of her pecs, pumping them up and sending banded quivers across the top where they barely show past her breasts, and her poor, abused toy is heavily compacted by her abruptly steely boobs. She figures this will help keep the lecture fresh in his mind.

"It refers to many things-- social cooperation and leadership being among them! And for that matter, it's not about whether an individual 'gets' to survive or not. The theory describes a survival of the  _ species _ ."

She snorts, looking down at the stunned Cro-Magon. " _ Not _ individuals. Honestly."

Courtney's huge smile flashes, looking sharper by the second. "Your interpretation is so self-serving-- and you will serve  _ just  _ me. Clear?"

"Yes…" Van chokes as her big, broad breasts close in further and further. "Courtney… Yes…"

The hacking continues, accompanied by sobs so pretty she nearly cums. "You're clear! Please-- mercy!"

(Courtney refrains, virtuously; she doesn't want to accidentally smush him.)

"Mercy?" she asks, feigning confusion. Her free hand taps her chin for a few moments while she jerks her hand up and down on his abused dick.

"Oh, I see!" Courtney chuckles. "Aww, it's so cute that you think such a thing exists!"

She laughs… but unflexes her chest, letting her breasts return to merely "oppressively heavy" against his small body.

Groaning with the pleasure of her power over Van, she leans further in, across his face to bite his ear. "Your suffering is the only thing that gives me any mercy at all. Feeling lucky?"

"B-b-blessed," he coughs, trying to swell air back into his chest.  _ Not much room for those lungs. Not with a torso that could duck behind my thigh to hide. _

Courtney runs her thumb over his still-captive, still-rock-hard cock, playing with the nerves by rippling touches against his skin. "So cute, little thing." She doesn't specify whether she means him or his dick.

It is, of course, both. 

"Do you feel it, Van?" she purrs, and his eyes look up in wonder and fear combined. "Do you feel the change in your mind-- do you feel the crush of your old life crumbling to ruins?"

A wordless moan is all he manages in response.

It makes her laugh. "So cute, little guy," she hums. "So cute when you try to blow your wad-- and can't!"

Sometimes, she even uses direct pain, squeezing the whole package-- or even just his nuts-- enough to cancel the climax-chance, but that's risky. "It's like you're cumming your brains  _ out _ , rather than  _ cumming  _ your brains out!"

The burn of blush on his face and the shamed tears on his cheeks sizzle together-- proving her right. "Do you blame me?" she asks, panting heavily now.

Each time he resents, the more he hates the humiliation… the more tasty it is.

"Mistress, before-- I wasn't… I wasn't like this, you have to know…" he groans, and she shakes her head. "It's your conquest, I know it is, I know it…"

"No," she tells him. "Look inside. Look inside the man you never were and find the slave you've always longed to be."

Courtney's words pound into his soul like her fists to his flesh.

"You… conquered… me…" Van groans, all but collapsing against her giant, burly arm. He's no more weight than a feather-- or a breath.

Actually, Courtney is rather certain he's always had a bit of masochistic tendencies. He's sabotaged himself so often. Ruined himself by gloating or personalizing matters until he failed.

"I have," she laughs. "But that doesn't change a damn thing, Vanny boy. You know it."

He shakes his head, briefly, before the light squeeze of her hand warns him against contradicting her-- or worse, lying to her. "Please, Courtney…"

"Did you like it?" she laughs. "When those 'buff' superheroes made you kneel? Made you surrender?" 

Van groans. In an odd, reverse collapse, he stiffens up. Gyrating his flat hips, rutting his groin back and forth so far as the prison of her rock-hard fingers will permit.

"I…" He whines, and she smirks more. His illusions are crumbling.

_ Yes. I'm right, like usual. He did love it, before. _

_ Now? Under my hand? Pain's a blessing to my pretty little guy. _

_ But… I don't have to use just physical means. Just talking to him about it is killing the Savage out of my Van. It's good for him! _

Courtney's tongue rolls slowly from one end of her lips to the next, tasting his hormones on the air. In its wake, she chews on her lower lip, occasionally letting out a pleased, shuddering breath that rocks down from her broad shoulders. Her chest joins the quiver, clenching pecs and bobbling breastflesh.

The moan runs all the way down to her hard belly and her plush hips, and centers itself in her soaked sex. She loves it; her clit loves it too. This time, she lets herself bring her grip on him to near the edge of destruction.

" _ YES! _ " she howls, panting as her whole megazonian body clenches in orgasm. In triumph, sweat outlining her like the jewels she deserves.

She prods him. "Do you need to cum too, Van~ny?" Her voice takes on a little lilt, teasing him.

She's still more than a bit offended by his bullshit from earlier that night.

_ Perky. I mean seriously. Me? Perky? Do some research! _

The offense has faded mostly into a sneering amusement, but she enjoys using it as a goad more than a debt to be paid. Van howls. The pain in it, the crushed ambitions, the  _ surrender _

It makes her nipples so very, very hard.

Choking on his swallowed ego, he whines on.. "... I don't deserve it. I deserve punishment. Please… punish me!"

She scoops just a little bit of drool from the edge of her lip.  _ Suffering and pleading for more suffering. Yeah, that's the stuff. _

She's had so much. It makes the pain of it drift away-- but it makes her want more. So much more of his pain and submission.

_ Why? _

_ Mmm. Guess these are the sort of Hungers it's hard to overstuff! _ It isn't difficult, keeping him hard.

As requests go. her Hungers make it quite a soft target.

But that's not it, not entirely. She lets that quandry go deeper into her multitasking cycles. Something to think about… while having fun.

The nerves in his pathetic twenty-five centimeter weenie are quite visible and comprehensible, after all.  _ Ditto those almost cute teenie nutlings.  _ Knowing exactly where he will be most stimulated, she works his cock as she contemplates.

Her hand dominates his dick in moments, holding it within a vice-like loving embrace. She has a total sense of Van's body, an all-penetrating knowledge of his every cell. She draws her hand back, and actually finds his wail of loss quite flattering.

Ruin has come into the life of First Fucktoy, tyrant no longer, murderer only when she demands. His fingers clench; he's so rarely been denied anything before this night. That's the ego regenerating; it's tasty to flog it so.

"Oh, hush." Her tone is light, but he shifts to just soft, almost silent shudders. "I haven't left you completely, little weenie."

She hasn't, either. It's just a single finger, rubbing right on the very tip of his patheticock--  _ Gotta remember to call it that to his face, later-- _ barely letting his precum slip by, making each new splurt of pleasured lube yet another torment for her toy.

The light brush of Courtney's finger is otherwise gentle over the tip; it crushes nothing. She does not even permit friction-- but when she shifts the helpless shaft even slightly, she completely controls how blood and flesh bounce. Controls how his very hardness interacts with those so-visible nerves and around them.

"You know that wasn't an answer to my question, right?" she asks once she has him on the edge. That, too, isn't particularly difficult.

"To any of them, not really." She's willing to permit Van to hang on it. For now.

_ It must feel like thousands of tiny tongues, _ she thinks with an indulgent little grin as her First Fucktoy, moans and gasps with uncontrollable ecstasy. The softness he finds so tight in his muscles spasms like she was electrocuting him-- with pleasure.

_ Inside and out. _ In waves from the root of his cock it spreads, making him dance against the pillowy smother of her huge breasts. And flail against the unmovable power of her gigantic arm, even the smallest striation carrying more strength than Van's whole body.

"I know," he whispers. Courtney approves, just lightly.

His muscles may be no match for hers, but she likes seeing him tense, shuddering in horrified lust. Seeing his body so oppressed by hers that those 'muscles' threaten to tearn him apart. They bulge so far as they are able, mere goosebumps compared to her, and it makes him even more adorable.

Even more delectable. "I know," he repeats, almost sobbing it, "And I know you are displeased by the evasions and…"

His attempts to avoid the question choke off into half-groans of pleasure, half hacking coughs. Her smirk widens like the gap between their abilities. Courtney hasn't even done anything new. 

All she's doing is keeping his cock wedged between climaxing and utter, distressing,  _ stiflement _ .

She brings her other hand up, runs it through Van's slicked-down hair. "Aw, pretty little guy," she tells him, chuckling as twin shudders of rebelliousness and horniness run through him.

Trapped utterly by his new owner, his fingers clench on empty air; his knees try to pull together; his spine tries both to straighten and to flinch away from her, all at once. The fight is on in an instant, with his survival instinct tag-teaming with horniness to keep the rebelliousness beaten back.  _ Fascinating! _

Not easy going, though. She likes that. Sweat joins her femmecum in coating his face, and she licks that up, groaning happily and licking her lips..

"It'll taste even better with your tears, too," she whispers, and he whines, helpless. Then she grabs his hair in her fist-- leaving just enough room to avoid the concussive noogie she gave him the last time-- and yanks his head back, exposing his neck again.

"Adorable," Courtney whispers again. Instinctively obedient, even with her total domination of his personal space and his dick, he throws his hands and legs back each time he tries to convulse forward.

Even in this, she owns him; he shakes himself, restrains himself as tightly as any chain, while the sensual pulses from his prick inflict a compulsion to curl around the heat. Almost no pain, not even where he fights his own muscles-- but no release, either.

"Adorable-- but still.  _ Tell me _ , Van."

Despite the exquisite pleasure, though, Van is not permitted to repeat his disobedience from before.

The same total comprehension of his body allows her to squelch all his potential orgasms before they can happen. In this, she hurts him; lets him feel his seminal vesicles try to release and be squeezed by the ripples in his cock from an infinitesimal shift. Lets him feel sphincters squished against autonomic reactions, just long enough to prevent ejaculation.

Finally, hanging his head he gasps, "I need it so badly but  _ please _ …" He groans, almost a growl, unable to voice or perhaps unable to decide for what he wishes.

  
Courtney plays with him, changing her tactic from moment to moment, potential orgasm to potential orgasm. Perhaps now she flicks her fingertip up and down, making the cock bounce like a diving board. She stirs him just so, the vibrations pulsing along his nerves and aching erection so that his shaft alternately flashes with fierce ecstasy and feeling like it's about to crumple.

Or perhaps Van must suffer a sudden numbness; his whole package suddenly insensate yet no less hard. Then immediately feel every centimeter fill with sensation all at once; ecstatic pulses that run from tip to base to balls to everywhere… And yet fail, at the very peak of pleasure.

Each time he comes up to just below a climax, he feeds her. When he feels it fail-- or be stifled-- he feeds her. Sometimes she's far less subtle; his whole cock is in her grasp.

Her fingers, far bigger than his package, clench, cutting off his ability to cum until he ceases. No other pain, just-- imprisonment. The ultimate cock-cage.  _ It's like whack-a-boy! _

Courtney feeds on that, too, not just the humiliated pain but the utter sexuality of it. She's giving him a handjob, and dominating him with it. It won't be the last time or the last way.

_ I haven't even had to tie you up, Van. Just tied your brains in knots. _ At least he isn't so  _ rude _ now. 

It's nice for itself; but even nicer that it spins up a part of Courtney's endless multitasking sweetly-- remembering. "Here's the deal, Van," she rumbles as she lazily reminisces.

The memory of obliterating his rudeness makes her gasp so much harder with pleasure than even his submissive attempts to cum. She sucks her lower lip down under her teeth and bites down.  _ Fuck, I taste  _ good _ , period. _

It's certainly better than Van's whining cry as yet another climax is utterly stifled and her hand keeps inexorably pushing him on. "You will swear to me. By whatever you hold unbreakable, now that I've broken your ambition." 

He's blubbering, begging her to stop, not even to get off, but just to stop being driven to it again and again by a hand that could just as easily turn him into a fine red mist.

_ Nope, bitch; I did ask. Just because it's my fault you can't answer doesn't mean I'm going to choose the answers for you. I want what little strength you have directed for me willingly… in the end. _

"You will swear, and then I'm going to feed on you again. By climax and by cruelty. Mine… over yours." She smirks.

Leaning down she kisses his forehead, then snarls. "I meant it before, Van.  _ I'm so hungry! _ "

He flinches away from Courtney's barked declaration. "I'm going to let myself be cruel to you-- and you know why, don't you?"

The swift regeneration of Van's willpower has a similar benefit to her as his bodily regeneration. "S-so that the ones you cherish feel it less." He recovers from the sheer force of the brainball she's playing with him much more quickly.   
  
She twists her hips, her sex squeezing on empty air as though crush-fucking that ego. Her shredded abs roll and shift, up and down and moving her side to side as she enjoys her feast. "Good boy," she whispers, and rewards him.

Already bulky muscles shift along the length of both Courtney's arms, the banded fibers tugging on each other to pump out and grow forth. She shows him her strength again, beautiful and majestic and deadly, while she makes her finger strokes his prick in longer arcs. Just the one.

While she fills his vision with beauty-- and boobs, but from how close she is, that's a given-- she dulls the bonesaw edge of pleasuring.

The longer arcs give him a longer period between near-orgasms, leaving him wriggly but not constantly gasping. "Very good boy indeed," she tells him, and kisses him fiercely before he can screw up his face in revulsion at how tight she's making his mental collar.

She holds the kiss for a moment, tasting Van's fear by wrestling his tongue down once more. Hers holds it, strokes along it, and probes deep, enjoying herself. This, too, defeats his self-will; lets her drink that "conquering" ego down.

Then she breaks the kiss and nods. "That's the service you swear. Then I'm going to make you pay a few more near-orgasms worth."

"But that's going to be the easy part for you." Anticipation builds in them both, the knowing and the unknowing. "Do you know what happens after you cum?"

He gurgles, not quite coherent, but something along the lines of, "Whatever you wish!" She disapproves, though. What she wishes, she can't have-- yet.

Speaking of…

Courtney's quiet half-snarl makes her well-snared victim jolt abruptly. Savage's teeny little "Oh, me, I'm an easy gainer body-builder" style muscles twitch and clench in instant, total fear response. Just that, though, twitch and clench.

After all, she can't really call that  _ flexing _ , now can she?-- as he tries uselessly to escape her killer grip. Even Atom Smasher's gun show would barely qualify as a Nerf demo to her new perspective.

_ I want my AL! _ Murderous hatred nearly makes her crush Van's errant, tiny member, no more than twenty-five centimeters, ten inches of teeniness. Back before they were driven apart, even at his default height, her Al was so much bigger-- everywhere.

The parts of her she must always guard against want so badly to obliterate Van's dick out as some sort of sin against her memories. But the absence of Atom Smasher is the fault of men and women she thinks of family, so she doesn't finish the job-- though her confusion briefly makes her want to break the villain closer, as it were, to hand.

Shaking her head, Courtney says, "No-- and you can't give me what I  _ really _ wish. So let's not pretend."

She lets him worry on that, wishing he was smart enough to figure it out. "What you will do, once you cum… is be of service to me." Before her words can truly sink in, she lets a feral grin across her lips, the savagery making it seem as wide across as her shoulders.

Well, almost.

"And at the apex?" she coos. "I'm going to sit on your face again, Van."

It seems like such a simple thing. Something he's already surrendered himself to loving. A fifty millennia mind, stunned and bollixed by her power.

_ It feels so good! _ Closing her eyes, Courtney shifts and bobs her head and hair all around in snake-like, curving motions. She can see his half-relieved confusion, of course; her eyelids having so little to do with her sight.

Van warily lets his muscles relax, lets himself sink down into the place where her restraint of his orgasms feels just and justified, the pain of it turning into a different type of pleasure. The tension fades from body and mind. A gurgling sigh of relief-- of horny lust, in fact-- escapes his throat. She lets Van slip into that relaxation… briefly.

Very briefly indeed.


	24. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the orders have been set, it's time to crystalize the future. Courtney feels the Drives filling and overfilling. It's a paradox; the more she takes Van down into the dark, the more she can see a light in all humanity-- including him.
> 
> How fortunate that they both just discovered his taste for domination predates the Pulse, and almost certainly the Lodge Wars of the Hunters, too Because she wants that worship from him; she wants his obedience. She wants to feel him surrender everything to him.
> 
> Plus she's a little curious about how it will feel when he eats out her ass, too.
> 
> At the same time her desires become more thorough, she is saying good-bye to others. Almost uniquely amongst her sister Hunters, she has a rather stuffed M-Drive, because he trapped her, he zapped her, and she felt the pain and humiliation thereof. And she's wanted to make sure she could keep feeding on that.
> 
> But now, as she comes closer and closer to seeing him as a person again, she knows she can't do that; it harms him too much.
> 
> And promises must be kept. Especially since his promises to her and her promises to him are a harder collar on him than even her fist.
> 
> But leashes pull both ways.

Courtney Whitmore's victory over Vandal Savage is not quite total. Sort of. In some senses, it was total from the moment she took an interest in him post-Pulse.

Yes, while she was naked and slumped in the middle of his magical circle.

But she's got a lot of work to go on getting her pet to completely dedicate himself to her. Some of that will take years; some, lifetimes.

Some of it will never go away, a hobby she passes down to her daughters. But still, she wants him to understand. Face-sitting  _ appeals _ to her, a lot.

Time to let him understand how total  _ that _ appreciation is.

"My ass, Van," Courtney's tells him, eyes still closed. He jolts up and out of the entrancement, and if she doesn't giggle at the sight, it's only because she's letting out little, lips-pressing, puffing cries of pleasure.

She nods slowly and lets out a deep, low grunt as her core clenches over air where she should have her Al. "Yeah, sweetie. You're going to serve  _ all _ of me. My hand…"

Her demonstrating fingertip squeezes out another wail from Van; so precious.

"My lips, above and below…" Both wet, one from her tongue and one from far more than the memory of his. "My breasts, like you know you want to… my muscles, like you know you need to."

Chewing her lower lip into the smile, she opens her eyes.

"My feet," she moans, "Like you know you  _ should _ … My skin, Van, my hungry Drives, my everything will know your service and especially your tongue!"

Abruptly brutal, she pushes Van's prick down, and down, and down, pinning his balls back, and then just rests the very edge of her fingernail on it. It's proportional to her size, not the slightest bit of pointy… But they both know she can make it be very sharp indeed.

"And yeah," she growls. "Definitely, my ass."

Courtney waits a few moments as he sobs and thrashes. "I know you're afraid. But do you have a  _ problem _ with that?"

He can't even answer, held like that. Just shake, and quiver, and strain, trying to hold himself back from daring to try to complete what she denies. Or… She laughs.

"Try it, Van," she suggests. He blinks at her, tears streaming down his face.

Immense pain and incredible sensual warmth races up from his groin to meet those tears, leaving him too shocked to respond. It is, as always, by the will and hand of Courtney Whitmore. The constant neargasms have left his poor dick so sensitized it's a wonder the wind itself doesn't make him burst.

And so she applies an  _ edge. _

The thin-enough edge of her nail rotates and strokes around his shaft-head, forcing it to simultaneously experience agony and ecstasy. "Try to move my hand, little slave," she encourages, eyes and smile widening with horny predation yet again.

"If you can so much as get me to lift the depression of the nail, I'll let you cum."

Another groan follows, and turns into a snarl as Van remains insensate. "Try it  _ now _ ," she orders.

Her voice bypasses his brain. Goes straight to his nerves, and through them, whips his arms to yank suddenly with as much force as he can manage. And fails utterly at it, just as utterly as with his failure to cum.

It's not leverage. It's not disobedience. It's not exhaustion, either.

When she orders, he obeys. Trembling hands that have reached out to try to grasp the whole world lock around her power-thick wrist. Even both together can barely fit around it. 

Nonetheless, surely he should be able to move something, right? A little wobble, maybe even disturb her skin?  _ Heh. Poor guy. _

_ Nope! _ As she stares down, smirking, he does try desperately enough. She's pleased that he keeps looking at her for approval, yanking and looking and yanking and looking.

Van's trying to get her approval, not to cum. "Good boy," she whispers, and he somehow finds enough focus to add ki to the mix.

Her praise is all the focus he needs and all he will ever need-- until she gives him to the most strict of her daughters.

He hauls up with both hands, as hard as he can. His little biceps, teenie things barely bigger than what you'd see on an overfed action star, strain; delts, too, along with his pecs-- she can see the fibers interlock, the bones lever beneath them, all of it.

Helpless struggles pleasing her, Van gives it his all. Even his lats and traps, working along the rotation. He really is trying quite hard, she appreciates that.

"Oh, yeah, little guy… mmm, try it the other way?" Courtney suggests, licking her lips again while below, her labia engorge as they're suddenly flooded from within and without.

She twists her free arm around and rests it on her hip to show off her tricep to him. Her supreme control lets her bulge and flex the corded lengths and bulky, grooved masses without having to let go of his stifled stiffy to put her hand on her far wrist. "C'mon."

Quirking up her eyebrow and smiling at him while panting happily, she nods back and forth at the slow travel of strength from head to head to head of the tricep. " _ C'mon _ , you get me," she urges, and he does. Tentatively moving his hands from her wrist to her forearm, he tries ever so hard to shove.

It's a cute little picture. Van's triceps try their hardest too, but as hard as he tightens them to try and move, it all fails. Fails at equaling her resting tricep, on the arm that's just casually holding his cocktip on that nail-edge mixture of pain and pleasure, fails at moving that arm-- fails at getting himself the permission to cum he isn't sure he wants.

But he keeps himself from cumming; there is that.

The cuteness continues; lats and traps straining, the push traveling along his delts again, just for a different set of connections pulling. The other way, his forearm, ah, "bulges," again, making its weaselly little attempt. It does not impress.

"Are you really trying?" she demands. Sniffing, she shakes her head.

"I'm not so sure I'd know the difference without this extra microscopic vision… Maybe I should  _ make _ you cum. Maybe you don't want punishment enough?"

Van's confused sobbing makes a wave of pleasure pass through her, feeding off his suffering. "Oh, mmm though, that's nice… You're so pretty and dainty when you try to exert yourself, I could just lick you right up!"

And so she does.

Courtney doesn't bother restraining herself. Why should she? She just knocks his hands and the full force of his arms and back aside as she shifts her fingertip hold on his cock.

Still channeling her force through just the finger, she rotates it out to the side as she looms her gigantic body completely over his personal space. He yelps as her heavy knockers swing onto him again. The softness of them conforms around him, but the heaviness of them envelopes him.

She slurps up his tears, mixed with his sweat and her ejaculate. Her musk is the most delicious component, but the spice of those tears and frustrated sweat… "So  _ good _ , Van," she purrs, and considers him.

At her speed.

He's still so slow. Even Van's weeping, even uncontrollable shudders are  _ slow _ . Frozen, really, as she decides to think and operate at the timescale to which she is entitled.

In the time it takes for his nerves to even report one shudder-- or one shud-- she's had an entire conversation-- several dialogues, really-- with herself, including her conclusions, just like she had before he even found the first reinforcement for the wards.

_ Those were nice, though. I'll have to make him use some of those spells on me again. No-- wait. _

She promised, and her word means more than it ever did. Even living up to the standards of the JSA. __ Courtney suspects she might even feel like she had to mean it before telling her mom she'd finished her homework, now.

_ So, no, not  _ make _ him use them. They harm him as well as hurt him, but they did feed my third Hunger a bit. I'll need to see if he can volunteer. _

_ He should want it, but I can't be the one to make him. I mean, it  _ will  _ give me an edge on the other Hunters; I'll be well fed. _ The thought pauses, even within the eternal moment.

Courtney considers how feeble the titan-binding and god-scourging blasts were.  _ Er… I'll be fed, at least, if not well. And that will make me stronger still… _

_ It's time. _

Some things are best done at a speed appreciable by others. She pulls herself out of the meditative moment, synching up with her Van once more.  _ How many lifetimes will I live before I die? _

_ As many as I need, I suppose. _

"You just can't manage muscles, can you?" she whispers. "Not  _ real _ ones." He shudders, but nods, his hands falling away from her. 

Courtney ruthlessly squelches his most recent near orgasm, then rises to her feet. Her hand at his face is all it takes to get him to lick his own precum clean, the humiliating distaste he feels barely showing.  _ Such a good boy! _

She has to squelch her own desire to give him a fond smile, too.  _ You'll learn to love it, pretty toy. I promise. You're already so close-- you love obeying me and you hate what I call you to do. _

If she smiled now, Van wouldn't understand it.  _ But it'll never stop being humiliating, so why not just enjoy it? Enjoy being mine, Van. _

_ But that's my point, isn't it. _ "On your knees, Vandal Savage," Courtney commands. Her voice is as frigid as Killer Frost's heart, and just as sharp.

The tiny caveman, not even two meters tall-- smaller than a basketball player, of all puny people!-- kneels swiftly.

"Swear to me," she demands. "Swear that you will obey me in thought and deed and even in your  _ need _ it will be to obey me."

"I swear, Courtney. By the death of my father, by the hope I had for my daughter, by the meteor's lasting glow… I will serve you."

She nods, waiting.

"I will obey you in th… in thought, in deed and…" He closes his eyes tightly. It hurts him, to swear his thoughts to her; and it hurts him doubly so to swear over his desires to her.

It hurts him so much that she almost ruins the ceremony by cumming over him, right then and there. But her self-control is far better than his, by far. Though orgasmic pleasure races through her, feeding on his suffering, all that she shows him is  _ Hunger _ .

His eyes open to it, and a whine interrupts him before he can continue.

It's nothing much. No giant flex of bulging muscles, no threat of deadly thighs.

Just… Just a bit more predatory dilation of her pupils, a deeper flush to her skin, and a lick of her lips. A little tilt to her head, and the scrape of her toes curling yet again.

Then the flash of her teeth in a truly Hungry smile, indeed. She's waiting-- and he can tell. He completes his first oath, utterly bound.

"And in my needs," Van groans. "My wants shall be as you wish them, and in service of your requirements, desires, even whims."

Courtney smirks. "Swear that you protect what is  _ mine _ \-- yourself and my family included-- better than you ever did your ambitions."

"I swear," he moans. "By death, by hope, and by radiance-- I will protect that which you claim better than I ever did my ambitions."

Courtney is relentless, cutting off any possibility of weaseling. She has to be. For them both.

"Swear to feed my hungry Drives as I see fit," she rumbles. "And that you will advise me not only well, not only honestly, but with allegiance to my ends and motives."

Tears rain down his cheeks, and he falls forward, knowing what such an oath will entail. It's not just that he won't measure up until she trains him. They both know that the oath is aspirational to him as well as law.

As she watches, she has to lick her lips. The tears glistening in his eyes fall faster, so she strokes her fingers over her rough-hewn abdominal muscles. It makes her stomach growl, but that just makes him weep more.

_ Feed me, little Van. Feed me your pain… feed me your allegiance… feed me this oath. _

But if he swears that, he will be aspiring to give up everything to make her cum, that he will give her whatever tools she needs to inflict cruelty and, perhaps, even, to assist her with the pillow-soft lashes of the furies once again… despite the cost. 

He won't even be able to use her third Drive as an excuse to try to hurt her. She's seen to that. Her domination will be complete.

And by his earlier oath, he swears to enjoy it.  _ To love being bound, and to love sacrificing himself for me, again and again. _

"I swear," Vandal Savage repeats. Savagery drains from him with each word.

"By death, by hope, and by radiance…" There's a whine, but under her harsh blue gaze, held just above the level of trance-- he cannot help but continue. "I swear I will be a meal for your Drives as you see fit."

He shivers, but the words shake from him with every shuddering breath. "I swear all these things and… That I will advise you well, honestly... and loyally."

_ Clink. _ He's put the collar around his soul's throat-- and is offering the leash to her. The ties that bind here won't even  _ need _ a physical collar when she has that leash of spirit and mind and urgent, urgent lust in her hand.

So Courtney takes it, metaphorically speaking. "Good!" she crows happily, slapping her hands back on her fat hips once more.

_ Mine-mine-mine-MINE!  _ Her toes wiggle with anticipation as she feels the smack, running her teeth over her lower lip. The jiggling slam runs through her curvy ass and the overwhelming curves of her breasts as she stands over him.

She tightens up a bit, showing off striation upon striation, the fractal web of muscles supporting muscles bulging out so he can see that whom he has sworn to-- not in full, but in her nature.

"Then I swear to you Vandal Savage, that I, Courtney Whitmore  _ will _ be your owner and mistress in good measure," she tells him. The rumble of her sweet yet deep voice pounds over him like the clanging shut of a cage door.

"I swear by the only thing that matters, my word, that I will only harm you with true cause, and not for a moment's pleasure without your given consent. I swear that I will keep you, and train you, and I will not consider you forsworn for failure-- simply sworn to be  _ instructed. _ "

Courtney grins as she watches him shudder. There are reasons she has to add those bits.  _ Sorry Vanny... _

_ Never getting away, _ she reminds him silently. But he does deserve to know how he shall be kept.

"I swear I will keep you as comfortable as any who are owned by me, to share in my luxury as you aid me and feed me. My triumphs will hold you within them, and you will be given the chance to shape so much of the world as I can put my hand upon. You will see what your order can do, when it is stripped of your greatest flaw: your own pride."

The words seem to come from either deeper within her, or from below her, coming up from the center of the changed Earth. "I promise, Van, you will be mine and I will not give you up. I  _ will _ protect you, so long as you obey and obey well. You will be made as strong as your body and mind can manage, and I will make you into a mighty slave indeed… all so that you may serve me better."

The collar is on, the leash accepted.  _ Clang. _ The cage is shut.

No matter where she sends him, in his heart… he is caged in his own soul. So very, very delicious is this morsel of a man. Then, she's actually surprised-- the cage becomes more than metaphor.

Flickers at the edge of her vision-- edges she shouldn't have, given the spherical nature of her sight-- seem to whip and whirl around Van, as though on the edge locking him to her. The force of her word  _ means  _ something to the world, and takes his promise within those words.

Something like a climax takes them both. Or rather-- Courtney ducks down, grabbing him out of his kneel, and wraps her burly arms around his back. She pulls him in, squeezing him into her rack once more while  _ she _ cums, good and hard.

She puts no controls on him save forcing him to feel the quakes and shocks of her orgasm bash and bounce against him, in the reflexive flexing of her arms and the shaking slaps of her tits.

Overstimulated and now under-controlled, surrounded by the luridly lush bracket of her hyper-sized breasts, Van's whole body convulses. His hips move in sync with hers as the--  _ connection _ \-- takes place. As though the long strokes had finally reached their peaks. He's surrendered his whole freedom to her, and nothing restricts his cock now.

"Courtney!" he wails, and she growls, accepting his surrender. The growl runs through her oathbound slave, freeing him of  _ some _ of her command to contain himself.

He arches his back, thrusting himself against her as she holds him close,grinding his dick between the shredded strength of her abdominal muscles. She even helps him, sucking in her breath to make her belly curve more, softening his cock's frantic rub.  _ MINE! _

Release, of sorts, strikes Vandal Savage. Some further part of his resistance to her ejaculates from his soul. As he quakes and thrusts within the vast, banded power of her arms and the enormous, smooth press of her breasts, he does not climax in body, but something like relief hits.

Some part of his pain at his oaths spurts forth and away, spent, never to return.

Courtney kisses him, lingering, her lips pressed to his and this time sucking on his tongue instead. Pulling it past her teeth and tangling it in her mouth, dominating him regardless of who probes whom. In a way, it lets her devour that pain, consume the broken pride, and make him more hers.

"Mmm," she purrs, breaking the kiss. She sets him down and arches her left eyebrow again, her fingertip stroking along his cock.

"Guess you really can't cum without me, huh, Van?" She sighs, but with a fond smile. "I suppose I should give you another chance…"

"Please," Van moans, and when she stops teasing his cock with her fingertip, slumps into a kneel again. She quirks an eyebrow, face grave.

"Perhaps," is all Courtney will say-- for now.


	25. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The taming is nearly done. Van doesn't quite instinctively act for the betterment of Courtney Whitmore above himself. He just wants to.
> 
> It's not what she'll accept, but it's a start-- a wedge. A wedge, with an edge. Controlling his ability to orgasm like she loves, she takes him down into a trance. Into a place where it is to his better interests to worship the power of her huge muscles as they flex and swell.
> 
> And swiftly enough, to a place where his better interests are becoming less and less relevant. Van can't hold it, not yet. But with their oaths spoken, he is hers.
> 
> But even as fed as Courtney is, the Hungers are a trap for her, too. Pushing her constantly to take more than any human could give. Slowly, she works back from threatening to teasing...
> 
> But he slips back from pleasing to pleading for an escape. At just the wrong time. In just the wrong way.
> 
> Courtney's Hungers' fangs flash in the back of her mind...

An oath has been sworn. The titanic Hunter named Courtney Whitmore, once Stargirl of the Justice Society of America, has conquered Vandal Savage, often called the First Murderer. Conquered him, claimed his loyalty, and dominated him sexually so deeply that even when she releases him for her own climax, he cannot join her in orgasm without her explicit command.

For the moment.  _ Since that's not quite the  _ kind _ of submission I wanted, to be frank, I'm actually sort of  _ glad _ he's going to be a recidivist. Sooner or later, and I'm willing to bet sooner, he'll cum for me when permitted, and each orgasm will make him more and more  _ mine _ , forever. _

Delicious.

Fed deeply by conquering Van and by his misery, Courtney has quite thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of the swearing. Of feeling the locks she put around his mind snap shut-- padlocks pulled into place by his own willingness. Her hunger for sex has fed deeply, too, the pleasure of his surrendered freedom still making her core squeeze and pulse, abs rolling up and down as she breathes the pleasure in and out.

Otherwise, they both remain silent for a moment. Vandal Savage bows his head, neck exposed.  _ I need to think of a good design for a collar for him. _

_ Hmm. Perhaps... _ The lines of tension that criss-cross his back tell her that the brutal truth of what they both needed to swear has raised his rebelliousness again.

She has expected this-- made sure to shape their oaths around it, in fact.  _ Time to push him to  _ want _ orgasms a bit. To view them as a goal. _

"You know I'm not going to let you cum  _ quite _ so freely like that for a while, right Van?" she asks softly. "Not until you earn it."

He bows his head still deeper. "As you say, Courtney. I am hungry for your pleasure more than my own-- for your power, far more than my own."

And it is true. There's confidence in him, once again, but it's a confidence in service. Mostly.

"A sweet answer," Courtney strokes his hair again lightly. "So it earns a sweetness or two."

"If you keep pleasing me-- if you keep yourself a  _ useful _ slave… then you may surrender to what my pussy demands of you. Do you wish to thank me for this sweetness?"

He trembles, terrified, whispering only, "Yes." There's a hesitation to his shoulders and the twitch of his chin back and forth.

Courtney reads it easily enough. He needs to be ground more fine yet.  _ Which is fine. _

_ After all, I have the tools. I can remake him. I will. _

Her fingers trail in his hair, and then pull back, forcing him to look up, past her immense breasts. Up, beyond colossal shoulders and corded neck. Up to her eyes.

Van sighs, losing himself in her blue. "I'm still scared I can't." The confession flows cleanly; the pain of weakness soothed by the grip of her hand.

"I.. always try to shift things to my advantage. Always. I need your guidance."

"As it should be-- for a time. This time."  _ The start of wisdom, cutie? We'll get you further along. I promise. _

She crooks a finger and calls for him. "Come taste, Van. Come taste power that can never be yours."

It's only the start of wisdom. The more confident he becomes, the more her poor Van returns to bad habits. But those same bad habits give her  _ more _ tools.

With more reluctance than she'd like, Van rises and bows to the inevitability of her strength. Some of him always does so faster than others, the rising, and a fond smile passes over her face.  _ It's not like that adorable little prick ever unstiffened, but I don't think it ever looks half so sexy as when it's drooling with uncompletable lust. _

_ Back to the edge for you, mister! _

Courtney beams down at him, blue eyes brighter than the LEDs as he crawls to her side. "Let me show you, pet," she purrs. "Follow."

Drifting in front of his face, her left hand comes up calm and slow,. Her head ducks forward, her voice huskier and huskier. "Follow where I send you, my Van."

Taking her time, she twists her knee towards him with the rest of her body away, pushing herself into pose whilst trailing her fingers from his face to her calves. He follows, eyes bright and well-beaten body quick to squirm against her. "On your knees, sweetness," she orders.

Courtney orders, and so her Van obeys. Wordless and prompt, if none too graceful The First Murderer dives deeper into becoming only Van, Courtney's First Slave. It's hard for him.

His trembling body resists him, but he forces himself to follow. "That's it," she groans, feeling his kissing compliance.

She guides him on, where to bend over under the hang of her pec-controlled breasts. Guides him back to worship at the huge quadricep, the killer thighs that were just a few minutes ago holding his head utterly imprisoned. It's his place now.

Van loves it.

Courtney happily tenses every muscle in her body, just to feel them all in glorious expansion. It rumbles back against his tongue, but she is at last pleased by him, his otherwise inadequate lingual adoration still warm and wimpy against muscles that are bigger than his head at rest-- expanding. Power packing them, tightening them together as the flexion makes them rise.

So rise they do. Great glaciers of muscle, curved and smooth-cracked under icy-taut skin, "calve," the desperate tonguing of her slave following the biggest offshoot.  _ Of course he does, the little muscle-slut. _

_ I'll bet he dreamt of big bitches even before I stepped out of his nightmares _ .

It makes her giggle. More and more, deeper and deeper definition pushing at the superficial surface, rippling and triumphant form enlarging to demand more of the obedience of Vandal Savage. Giggle, and gasp, like she'd let him put tongue to clitty again already.

She even bounces a bit back and forth on her heels, the electrical warmth of devouring his attention spreading all along her body.

The crushing force of those muscles magnifies the more she flexes. Promises remain unbroken; she retains so much microcontrol Van remains completely safe against the burly greatness-- for the moment. She even lets him keep the use of his tongue for his brave squirming.

It's a pleasant sensation, at first. The utter terror shaking in him as she lazily bulges and bulks out around him. Flat little boy-hips squirming to avoid letting his cock drool onto her steel-breaking calf muscles.

_ The poor, poor delicious thing.  _ Eyes almost shut to avoid being tempted by the swelling peaks of her arms again.  _ Mine, and always again mine. _

With no other refuge, he focuses on the rippling river-valley like vastness of her thighs. He barely manages to breathe through his nose, his tongue constantly lapping and pushing against her invulnerable skin in an attempt to massage even a little bit of her. He works as best he can, licking and kissing for as long as she permits.

_ It's not a great attempt, but I'll take it. _ Courtney's fingers trail down to Van's shoulders, squeezing hard enough to briefly bruise as she moans louder still. _ Mmm-- he's starting to react to my scent again, too. _

She could laugh, she really could.  _ Just the musk of my sex dripping and he can't tell whether or not to start cumming-- or crying _

Her hands trail back up, and take hold of his hair once more. With it, she tugs Van's head back away from her taut, pale skin.  _ That _ has a danger to him-- the danger of entrapment just as great as the hypnotic beauty within.

Forget the pinch of muscles, the lock of groove to groove and band to band. Now, the mere vibration of her skin is enough to lightly sting his tongue. She promised to take care of her sexy little caveman.

Until they're both ready. Especially her, oddly enough.  _ Well, it has to be what it has to be. _

"Time for a little  _ different _ play, cutie," she growls. "Time to teach…"

Of course, with a regenerating plaything, Courtney is finding it's so easy to be ready, again and again. After all, all she applied was a gentle bit of pressure on his so-breakable skull, barely enough to give a headache. But there he goes.

  
"Courtney!" seems to be about all Van can wail out right now. But she reads him like a book now.

The panic in him betrays the warring heart within. He's screaming for his mistress to correct him; he's screaming for her to leave him be.  _ That's okay, the screams are pretty, and besides... _

Courtney knows exactly which scream she intends to be the winner.

Out of control, Van's arms wheel again-- his desires are aligning with hers, but not yet truly subordinate. He tried-- for just a split second-- to hold on to her, but instantly flung himself back away from the act. But it's not enough.

_ Failure. Well. Opportunities, I suppose. _

"Oh, Van," she chuckles, chewing on her lower lip again. A little gasp runs through her speech as the cruel power of her words runs through him.

Her left eyebrow raises high. "Volunteering for my Hungers  _ already _ ? That's a good little toy."

Courtney softly nudges his six-pack, rigid to him but constantly weak to her. She doesn't bother reaching down, just uses left knee. Just a bit of pressure up from the ball of her foot, not even having to lift it off the ground.

He whines but says and does nothing, other than slump to stillness, knees staying rigid so as not to hang from her grip.  _ He's so cute when he's petrified! I'm going to have to watch myself. _

_ Loving hurting him might be bad; learning to indulge him and his  _ ways _ because I find him cute would be even worse. _

There, she leaves him, standing wobbly on his own two feet. "But I'd rather play the game  _ my  _ way" she rumbles at him, building to a hungry growl.

"You want to feed me, we both know it-- and there's still a tiny part of you that yearns to cum, even when I'm not fucking you."

Tapping her other foot imperiously, she looks down at Van's dick. The most she can manage is skepticism. He's fully erect and then some again under her constant torment.

Every one of his twenty-five centimeters of length is throbbing so hard it looks like his prick is trying to yank itself off his body and jump to her, balls optional!

There is some sensuality to that. She is eager to make his lusts  _ completely _ subordinate to hers, of course. Still, seeing him so hard for her he's almost being pulled around by his cute little cock is definitely a pleasant step on the path.

_ Which scream was loudest, Van? _ Courtney is so delighted by it all. _ I suspect I know based on the quiver of your lip... _

Tears drip on his face, making her squeeze her musclebound thighs together as the pleasure shivers through her. "I do, Courtney," he groans. "I want to feed you… and I can't help it-- it keeps turning me on the more you… the more there's that look in your eye."

"Like I could devour your whole life?" she asks with a rolling lilt, a sweet reverberation deep in her broad chest. "Like every second of your fifty thousand years is a worthy sacrifice for even a minute of my time?"

Too much of Van has recovered, under the oath. She can see the flush of red under dark Cro-Magnon tan. He is, of all things, ashamed of being so thoroughly owned. He can't even answer verbally, just moan and nod.

It amuses Courtney anyway. Especially the fact that no matter how much he slumps in place, his cock just seems to get harder and harder.

_ Okay, it's fun mocking his prick, but really, Courtney, come on.  _ She finally has her cruelty Hunger under enough control to recognize it's probably the largest tool she'll have tamed for a while; ten inches being a worthwhile attribute for a being so much smaller than she. So perhaps, she's just staring  _ mostly _ skeptically.

Perhaps… not.

She shakes her head, and Van winces, having no clue what's going on in her head.  _ Nope, never not going to be fun mocking that adorbs little thing. Even if it is half again and more the size of the largest I had before tonight.  _

_ Everything changed tonight. That's just how it is.  _ Besides, the hardness and the drool of precum are messy, and there's not nearly enough production of either. Her pussy will engulf the former and the spreading soak of her slit far outdoes the latter.

Still, she's at least a bit pleased. By the tightness-- not just the hardness itself, for if Van wasn't aroused, she'd be just as angry-- the tightness and  _ ache _ of how much he needs her, that is flattering. Enjoyable, in fact. His body is suffering, hurting itself with his lust, a hardness that's just on the edge of pain-- this is a dick made to be conquered.

_ It's always been his true calling in life, _ Courtney decides.  _ Plus his kink. _

She quirks an eyebrow again, making him shiver beneath the corresponding smile.  _ Heh. That's why he always manages to screw something up. Kinda creepy, Van-- setting yourself up to be thwarted just to get yourself off. _

_ Kinda creepy, but really adorable, now that I have him squirming for me! _ It even makes her consider for a moment letting him go easy. Just a little bit of writhing for her, and then she can put him where he belongs.

  
Beneath her hand, and then, between her thighs. Anticipation makes her fingers squeeze just a bit tighter.  _ And once my pussy's been paid its due… My butt gets the worship it deserves! _

He's shuddering, though, and it's making her want to glut on his fear and shame. To devour his pain until, someday, he wakes up completely hers, forever. A little part of her can admit, he's strong in a way-- she suspects no ordinary man would still be anything what she told him to be.

But it's the kind of strength that just makes her want to take more from him. As Van babbles pleading cries, she reaches down to chuck him lightly on the chin. Just another little scrape of her knuckles, and it breaks his regenerating jaw yet again.

The crunching sounds add fresh wetness between the chiseled hardness of her thighs, drooling along the definition. It even gets a happy sigh from her. From him...

"Such a freaking wimp," she says, amused, as he starts to bawl again. "I barely even touched you. Anyway."

She shakes her head.  _ There's such a thing as eyes bigger than mouth still, I suppose, even for preternatural Hungers. _ She snorts and shakes her head again as he whimpers at her, eyes still glazed as his jaw heals. 

"Keep your freaking mouth shut until I tell you to use it," she warns him. "Not that you'll be much better the next time out but I can  _ fix _ that, Van! I had you working better just in the middle of our last set of face-to-cunt cuddles." 

Courtney's pussy clenches a bit, arousal rushing down in memory of how she fucked that face more than how well it kissed her lower lips. "Time to play, time to feed, time to  _ feel _ , Van," she moans.

_ Time for us both to feel what I want us to.  _ With that, she makes a smooth motion that resonates through every muscle-packed centimeter of her. Angling down a bit, agile and swift despite her colossal heft, she crouches.

  
Even like this, even with her huge legs as closed to bent double as they can manage, she's still a head taller than he.

"Shut doesn't  _ just  _ mean silent," she says, and Van chokes off another wail. It's his ass she grabs first, possessively-- a nice start.

That's not where she intends to stay, but it's a nice little hind package, and his squeak at the squeeze is doubly delish. Her mouth keeps watering at the feel of her permanent prey-- mouth watering, toes curling, eyes dilating-- she hardly even returns to rest.

Rest isn't what she's looking for now. Running her hands all over him, Courtney feels out the shape of him and the vibration of his shudders intimately, for all she can see the slightest variation easily. There's something about how her hands are upon him, containing him, claiming him, that just makes it better.

Especially since he gives her so much to punish. He's paralyzed, mouth still hanging open, so Courtney tosses her head back and makes a little "Mmhmmnnn!" sound.  _ Thanks for the opener... _

Then she tilts her head back and forth again, following his quivers as her hand squeezes, just lightly all but collapsing him within the caress. "Oh yeah, Van. I can fix you good."

He snaps his mouth shut.  _ Finally! _ She knows exactly what he's thinking.

It makes her chuckle again. "Without anaesthetic, even." She goes back to exploring him, ignoring his growing terror.

After all, his panic is utterly irrelevant; only her interest matters.  _ That's not true,  _ remember _ that's not true. _ She can't let him see the internal grimace; teasing him this way…

_ Bring it back to him. Bring it back to surgery, squish that out… then reassure him about what you really mean. _

The rough caress of her thumb over what passes for thighs on him makes his brow furrow and his head squirm, trying to avoid opening up for the moan of pained ecstasy. She fondles on, revealing the sad weakness of his legs, first, then brings pleasure along with.  _ Probably used to think he was pretty tough, but this shit is barely Mr. Olympia territory! _

She considers matters.  _ I'm gonna need to make him work out some. I'm not sure why gym time is so appealing, other than being able to juggle him lifting the max his body can stand. _

_ With a single finger. _

Van can't possibly work out enough to avoid breaking with her light little flicks-- Kal-El couldn't, Diana couldn't-- but he'd better learn to look good for Courtney. First, he's going to learn shame; not shame at what she wants, but shame at the remnants of the man he used to be.

_ All the better if he starts squelching his own independence  _ for _ me, after all. What he can't make up in quality of conditioning, he can… uh… kinda approximate through quantity. Kind of-kind of. _

Her horny sex's sudden rush, as she thinks of  _ conditioning _ Van, makes him whimper. "Not a fan of elective surgery?" she asks, and her frown hits him like the palm of her hand. "I seem to remember you enjoyed vivisection, at that."

_ Tamp it down, Courtney, tamp it down... _

Courtney's hands move back to his nuts, and she thumbs the little spheres together, bouncing them about. Before he can more than yelp, she smirks. "Maybe I  _ should  _ get you some anaesthetic after all."

At his confusion, she gives a wry grin, strokes her thumbnail along his cock, and says, "Oh, honey." She leans way, way, way down to kiss him softly.

"What I meant is, let's face it, a certain amount of  _ fixing _ is going to happen anyway unless you get a lot tougher in bed than you have been."  _ I'm so mean! _

_ And this part, I think I can love-- for now. _

Tears reappear, and his jaw shakes. She sees the mind-destroying panic in them, and the widening of his eyes. So she pats him gently on the shoulder.

"It's okay sweetie," she purrs. Pausing a moment to pant and squirm her toes around, she smiles at him-- quite wickedly. "I promise, I'm teasing about the gentling."

Van's eyes almost roll back in his head from raw terror.  _ As though I'm not being reassuring, or something. Fine, fine, more deets. _

He's released from the pressure and pleasure of her fingers on his dick, and that, of course, gets a whimper, but her fingers trace down along the softness of his little six-pack down towards his hips. "I meant that you're likely to get a lot of  _ use _ . Would it have been more comforting if I joked about what we're going to have to do for your hips?"

Shivering, but less on the edge of passing out, Van clears his throat. "Er… probably, Mistress." he says, blushing and showing her his throat like a good little boy.

"Guess I should use anaesthetic on ya anyw-- Oh, come on," Courtney pouts at him. "You even know I'm kidding!"

"Mistress,  _ please _ …"

_ Okay, okay, fine. Bring it home Courtney. Gotta practice. _

She leans even closer and whispers in his ear, "I'm  _ really _ horny, Van. I warned you."

Van's eyes widen again and he tries to squirm. She ignores it this time-- or at least, doesn't hurt him for it.

"Oh, calm down! it's not like you'll be the only bedroom slave," she says with an eyeroll. "C'mon, stop burning the brownie points obedience is earning you. I'll let you rest  _ occasionally _ !" 

Feeling him writhe and remembering the fight before the Pulse, Courtney frowns a bit, her hard-won generosity fading. "Well-- after I have some time to put like a magical version of one of those dog tracking microchips in you, or something. You're too slippery, like a really, really small eel."

She brings her hands up long enough to make wringing motions with them together. She can't really control how much that makes her show off, of course. The little motions inherently make her forearms and biceps bulge just slightly, shaming both of his legs put together.

It puts a stop to Van's frantic motions, the sudden twists from side to side, desperately looking for a minion to sacrifice, or a hero to trade places with him. Unfortunately, the motions were made, and they tell her she's got more to go. A lot more to go.

She sighs mentally, but keeps a sultry-demanding smile on her face.  _ Oh, you dumb, dumb, little fucker. I can't believe you've gone back to looking for a way to get out of this. _

Again.  _ This is getting old-- his stubborn refusal to just take his beatings like a man, anyway. _ The fact that he can't even bring himself to run, though-- that never gets old.

_ I'm not helping, with the mean. But I need him to be able to take some teasing, or I'm going to lose the ability to properly satiate my drives with him. _

_ If he wants simple facts… I can be blunt, I really can. _

She takes hold of the situation once more. The writhing and the shivering of the once-proud Van are nice… But she expects more from him. 

_ Oh, well, I get it, _ Courtney thinks, looking into his rapidly twitching eyes.  _ Inappropriate much? I've got a hold of your situation entirely, and you're looking  _ around _ me? _

Van is looking at her, to be at least a little fair. He's only mostly looking at her; some of him, even now, is still looking for more than help. For an escape.

Those eyes keep searching around, as though this was a nightmare he could stop. 

It's disappointing, and boring enough to turn her off. … A little. Sort of.  _ Well, it makes me feel more Hungry for sadism than sex. Twit. _

She's even let him eat her out, and this is the thanks she gets?  _ Oh well. I knew this was going to be a long process _ .

Her abrupt glare pins him back. Too scared to continue, too smart to try to run.  _ But not smart enough. _

_ That's the problem, of course. You think you're special. You think Vandal Savage means something other than "Courtney's most resilient toy." _

_ Better step on that. _ "Alright, Vanny, listen to me. You've got your advantages, but in the end?"

"You're just more meat."

"I--" There's that word again. It irks her, even though she'd be irked more by some third person nonsense.

It's the way Van says it, she supposes.

Like he matters, except in how he can serve her.

His shudders, his bare skin-- all of it's clear as day to her, despite the darkness He'll never have anything secret from her again-- and he doesn't even realize it. His hands raise-- tiny things, fingers up and palms out as though he could ward off his fate. He isn't trying, which is sad; it'd make breaking him again so much more fun if he at least gave a real attempt. "Courtney-- please-- I…"

_ You nothing. You are nothing. Except that you are mine! _

The thought amuses almost as much as he does.


	26. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney Whitmore's had more chances to triumph and to suffer than most. That feeding is the only reason an enemy as reviled as Vandal Savage is alive, even as he refuses to stay molded for her desire. He had sworn to put his desires and causes in leash to hers, to surrender his own to hers, and that was how she was able to swear not to break him.
> 
> He isn't.
> 
> It's not good timing. An ordinary man would have been hers long ago. A titan of willpower and discipline probably would have given it up at the Skraʕk. Any of the field of immortals, tested by time, the loss of connections, and the enduring personality of centuries, probably would have stopped trying to squirm at the oath.
> 
> But he is Vandal Savage, or was, and fifty thousand years of being the First Murderer and Greatest Tyrant are leaving their mark. Suddenly, Courtney's sadism and perfectionism reach a boiling point. She wants him hers.
> 
> She wants him now. And it burns in her to the point of madness. This is the power of her Hungers, of a Hunter of the Hundred, and she leaves a big star on each of his asscheeks to remind them both. Just by the way her hand whips, and the air heats for it.

Begging and pleading, Vandal Savage is bare before his giant owner. The colossal Hunter has used the privileges of her new stature and status to read his every emotion in his body. Psychic defenses are useless; she can see the hormones flow, detect the nerves' interplay-- and she learns so fast that the entire language of his being is available to her at any moment.

Does a hand twitch mean that he wishes to grab for her beauty, thinking it his due? Or does it mean he wishes to ply loving massages, as is her due-- when she commands it? Or does it just mean he wants to plead for an end to pain?

It's all so clear to Courtney. The subtle differences are grotesquely loud to her empowered intellect and heightened senses. But then again-- so are the routes to change him.

Will pain make him resent her more, or will he beg for more of it, to erase his unworthiness? Will an orgasm make him feel triumphant, or will it make him feel like his willpower is dribbling out into her hand like his weak seed? Or will it just be another sensory overload among many?   
  


She knows, as far as such things can be known. Van's body shows how the responses function. And if sometimes, he throws her curveballs, if sometimes free will makes him surprise her…

He's all the more tasty for the variety. Especially since when she starts fucking with him and manipulating societies in aggregate, it's going to produce a lot more of those free will curveballs. The human mind, after all, really  _ isn't _ a baseball.

There's only so precise even Courtney can be.

But her senses are pretty good, especially for the short term effects she wants to make lead into long-term changes. They tell her where he can be made ashamed of Vandal Savage, conqueror. Where he can be made to love Van, muscle-loving painslut.

And they tell her what sort of punishment and which moments for rewards will program his psyche to desire the latter.

So when he babbles, she sees his thoughts and the solution to them. His hands raise-- tiny things, fingers up and palms stretching wide. They aren't attempts to ward off fate, but rather to try to placate the monster named Courtney Whitmore.

Part of her whispers:  _ impediment-no-resistance-to-squelch-reroute, shame-enforcement. Rebuild; desire-shame-obedience… _

_ Lust. Lust! LUST! _

Well, that part screams lust all the time. Even when Van's disappointing her, trying to babble his way to asking for guidance and mercy again. "Courtney-- please-- I…"

She doesn't permit that nonsense-- for now.

Ignoring his unspoken question, Courtney laughs as pleasure briefly courses up and down her body. His fear, his humiliation-- it literally pleasures her nearly as much as his tight little mouth around her nipple would.

Will, again.

_ Gotta savor that, though. Can't just ride his mouth all the way to the surface, not without a harness or something. For now, spread it out. _

_ Work up to it. Yes. _ She takes her time to enjoy the moment. Because it's time to let the  _ honest _ side of her sadism back out to play.

She laughs more, huge chest and hard abs shaking as she enjoys the look of his whole body clenching up tight-- like Van was trying to shrink in on himself. His hips shift, showing off his near-innie dick and its pathetic twenty-five centimeters as hard and as available as it can manage, but he's stuck, and it irritates her.

The stumbling tickles Courtney's clitty-fancy briefly, but it's more hilarious than good for her sadistic Hunger. "You just don't  _ get _ it, do you?" she rumbles, and her patience hits its limits.

She did, after all, say it was time to play. Almost unconsciously, she reaches out for him. The tautness of her skin and the sheer size of every muscle she has makes the action of the motion display like an anatomy lesson.

First, her titanic tertiary muscles flex all along the primary lengths. The sudden surge is anchored and supported in the breadth of her pectoral muscle. The powerful, fibrous flesh is "hidden" behind the huge weight of her right mega-melon-- to a mortal worm like Van.

To her own eyes, or those of a sister Hunter, it looks like an intricate dance of organic machinery, fluid and graceful, but she has no intention of slowing down enough for him to admire.

He's going to be too busy to properly adore, anyway. Far faster than Van's eyes can follow, the tertiaries push and pull along her arm, making it look like her tricep just suddenly inflated all at once. All of them, just instantly blossoming with extra muscularity and making the hammerhead bulge of her forearm even bigger.

She has him in a moment, and doesn't give him time to admire the pretty whirl of muscles upon muscles. Nor focus for anything but screaming, searching desperately in his own mind for some shred of his former powerful personality. Words strangle and his eyes roll back, his body stiffening as she works her will upon him-- but he still is looking for an out.

Trying to use the fifty thousand years of Vandal Savage as a shield against less than a day of Hunter Courtney.

She was winning from the moment she woke up, anyway.

With a quick flick of the wrist, Courtney hauls him back up under one arm. The swift, severe motion forces out the screams-- it gives his ribs a good cracking just from bouncing him between wrists and the top of her hip, where the padding gives way to muscle.  _ Mmm, that tasted much better. _

He cracks, and she gushes. It's her turn to roll her eyes back, to feel her cheeks flush. A long groan follows-- not from embarrassment, but from loving how far she can push him by  _ bouncing _ him off her fleshy, rounded hip.

That, and knocking Van off her obliques again.  _ Oops… Heh, heh, heh… _

The jolts of delight re-stiffen her nipples, the thick, broad flesh crinkling with further arousal as he moans, then screams again as the motion sets off his ribs again.

And of course, her pleased shivers rattle him around even more, starting the cycle again.

Courtney can't really help it; his near-squeals of pain and the swift healing thereafter are simply too good a combination to pass on abusing.  _ I can break him all I want… just have to time it right so I don't break so much he reincarnates. _ She'd hate to have to track him down-- though she would enjoy punishing him for getting away.

_ Bad cycle, that; I need to be careful. _

She's got him under one arm and writhing over one hip. Carrying him like a drum-- ready for use.  _ In fact… the kind of use I have in mind! _

It makes her giggle-- and gets her pussy all the wetter.

Van does make such a  _ sexy _ little piece, after all. Suffers so good, then, well, no masochist's version of a refractory period. She can just break him again.

And again.

Just like now.

As he heals, she plays with his spindly-slender weightlifter's legs, making sure to give the little guy a break.  _ Hey. He's even shorter than his thugs! _ The realization comes to mind in the same flash of a second it takes to admire his version of tightness.

Slowly, she's learning to appreciate a "'hard" man being good to beat. It's lovely, and makes for some delicious squirming of his bare, medium-dark-colored butt as his legs kick involuntarily. The motion catches her predator's gaze, and she quirks an eyebrow yet again.

She tastes the edge of her teeth, then shakes her head.  _ Spindly little chicken legs. Even a teeny thing like a bear would laugh at them. _

_ I know how to improve the look! _

She doesn't bother to warn Van now. She's done with talking for a few moments. Besides, that ass is just  _ there _ , bare and wriggling with the same lust to be corrected as the rest of him.

He's partially cushioned on her ass, but that's no sinecure. She doesn't bother to even try to stop clenching those glutes. No, sh e squeezes them all the harder in anticipation, rapidly bouncing them as her feet pump on the cold floor.

Clit throbbing and her slit soaked again, Courtney spanks him. The screams rise, as does the speed of the hapless wriggling of the man who still, deep inside, believes himself to be  _ the _ Cain. He's not really trying to escape, after all.

It's just the involuntary reaction of someone panicked, beaten, and captured. Van is screaming, yes, squeaking nearly as high as she did when fucking with his head. Honestly, though, that's so sweet to her ears it almost buys him less pain.

Almost.

She just keeps spanking him, anyway.  _ Almost _ has ceased to be even close companions with  _ enough _ . Besides-- it's good for him.

After all, Courtney adores every moment of it, and that's the only currency he has now. The slow shudders his delicious yawping buys for  _ her _ . The ghostly feeling of begging hands at her puffy labia, of skilled lips worshipping the moistened lips.

His screams and squirms and jerks and  _ pain _ pay her in pleasure.

And it is all Van has indeed. Even if his bank accounts still matter in the morning-- it's all hers already. The acquisitive rush of pleasure stiffens her nips again, thinking about all she can  _ take _ from him and with him.

So again,  _ almost  _ scrambles to reach  _ enough  _ nearly as violently as his legs kick as she tans his hide

Almost. She can't dive completely into her own pleasure, even now.  _ Especially now. _ Something is holding her back, and she uses the near-euphoric delight spanking him engenders.

And the wails… Her toes curl and she thrusts her hips forward-- as though there was a dick that hit big  _ enough _ available.  _ Fuck, I could spend a day spanking him just to hear all his different tones of pain!. _

Her cheeks darken and her lips part in, "Ooh!" noises again and again. A little drool makes it to the edge of her smile before she licks it away. Then, a particularly delectable cry brings her focus back to the spanking she's doling out.

Courtney grunts, feeling her sex juice up again.  _ Good Vanny boy. Good Vans get spanked, yes... _

The tiny little thing beneath her hand manages to scream enough to give her pleasure to focus on. Her hand falls, again and again. Little thundering cracks and crackles snap out as she leaves her marks on him.

Of course she spanks him. Getting him under her arm alone was fun enough to drench her thighs. Beating his disrespectful ass?

That gets her positively  _ gushing _ .

Van, her Van forever now-- he's screaming just for her, and his cock is dripping precum onto the dirty floor because he has no choice. So she keeps on spanking him. Feeling him. Listening to him. Watching him.

Drinking it all in, and it is sweet.

It's almost amusing how little pre he can squirt. Even a single drop of Courtney's musk-- after having run down the hills and valleys of her quads!-- leaves a bigger pool on the ground than everything he's managed so far.

All of him is at that  _ almost _ , almost to satisfying her once-more surging Hunger. And yet, those wails and screams aren't quite right. He's just not good enough at this, either.

She heaves a great titty-bouncing sigh.  _ Pigging out is for  _ me _ , Van. You should be concentrating on feeding me better. _

_ Ah, that's the problem… my little pain-piggy isn't piggy enough yet. _

Her toes clench and her eyes widen. Focus returns to pupils that had vagued on pleasure. Abruptly, she narrows her direct gaze, focusing on Van.

"Don't worry," Courtney whispers, briefly soft as her palm rubs the sting into the marks. "I'll teach you."

He squeaks a scream again.  _ Teachable moment, sweetie. I can thank you… and soon enough, you'll thank me! _

She manages not to cackle, if only because of the teaching.

Her voice is rather more like thunder, after all. "Fuck, Van, learn how to squeal  _ right _ !" Courtney roars, spanking him again.

Even though he still can't manage anything but a mostly-scream, her pussy clenches, muscles squeezing over where a tongue should worship. It's better. But it's still not  _ enough _ .

He's going to pay for that failure.  _ Hey, watch the gain, me, _ she reminds herself, unwilling to be lost in the amplitude of her sadistic drives. It isn't hard to find some things Vandal Savage is good at.

_ For example, I love the way he squirms!  _ Her toes wiggle in delight once more and her smile is ear to ear. She'd keep him for that alone.

Just like she'd spank him even if he was completely obedient.

She'd spank him if he was perfectly still and had a cock big enough not to be a joke.

She'd spank him if he was able to give more than acceptable head.

She'd spank him if she thought he'd be able to get her to cum without relying on feeding her Hunger so much.

After all, she's spanking him for a very good reason.

She spanks him because she likes hurting him. No other reason matters quite so much. That's  _ more  _ than enough.

Mostly.

Unfortunately, it's not  _ quite _ as satisfying as it would be if she could touch him at the same time he felt the pain. She can't, not if she wants him to survive. So she's also spanking him to punish him for his weakness.

Again.

After all, if she hit him at the speeds she needs to affix her chosen  _ gift _ to his ass, she'd turn him into dust. In time, she suspects, she can get defter. She's got the ability, she just has to feel out how to use it properly.

She looks forward to it, even as she beats improvement into his butt. To learning how to control even past the feather lightness of tens of thousand of newtons, no more force than would be necessary to move a commercial truck full of SUVs. Then, then she'll be able to  _ feel _ her hand hurting him.

For now, she just gets the air moving fast enough to heat up and slap his ass, then stops her hand close enough to shape the heat.

Because she's going to be a good owner. She promised-- herself, but she promised-- she'd improve his look, and so improve it she is. Even if she has to not touch when the first pain hits.

Sure, once Courtney has the heat burning into his butt, she rubs it in happily. It's all in the course of less than two seconds per slap-set, so she gets to feel his nerves sizzle and his body jerk. The heat of a star that she was once named for couldn't harm her now, but the warmth of Van's burning butt is enough to get her juicing all over again.

So she spanks him, so she can feel more heat-- and more of  _ him _ .

She spanks him so that she gets to feel the full-body scream as she brands Vandal Savage's ass. Both cheeks, of course, then a lighter slap that will fade faster and not mar the look: Two five point stars, one per buttock, in deep red, glowing cherry over the dark flesh beneath.

It's beautiful. And it feels so fucking good to have it done. Really, really freaking good.

So good Courtney almost wants to shove him between her thighs and  _ squeeze _ . Her quads ripple, grinding vast musculature together. Smacking into each other like he was already twisting between them.

Still.

This isn't just about the muscles or about the pain. To have claimed Van, that's where the pleasure storms in from. The sudden burst runs through her like lightning can't.

Her jaw works as she feels it coming up from her core, a twisting, clenching motion that seems to race her panting breath to the top.

Planting her hand down on the well-marked rump, she shudders, the chiseled and bumpy bulges of muscles tightening all around him. The hand on her hip tightens to a fist, knuckles grinding into the padding.  _ Mine… mine… this is what it means to take something as MINE! _

At last, at long last, a loud groan escapes her throat. Loving it, Courtney squeezes her captive closer and closer, snapping rib after rib. "F-finally, you're really  _ hot, _ Van!"

It makes her want to show off. Like she was challenging some other bitch who thought she was going to walk home with Van rather than broken arms. Her legs--  _ Yes. _

The sensation follows down, too, not just hulking around her fucktoy.

The feeling rolls through her. She flexes her thighs down hard, just to feel more of that electrical storm of sexual heat. The huge bands tighten, and just two or three of the main striations of her quads alone are already thicker than his waist.

The sensations build. Pulse through her entire muscular frame. Her inner thighs rub together, squeezing, her knees almost knocking together like when she was in the circle.

Then as now, it isn't from shame as she made Van suspect. It's just because she loves feeling strength kiss strength while her femmecum drips down, covering it all. She's big, she's badass, and she's freaking hotter than hot.

_ Shouldn't I enjoy it? _

Easy answer.  _ Of course I should. Speaking of enjoy… _

She hefts Van around, loving how hard he stays even now. She doesn't need to use her direct gaze to admire her handiwork ( _ Hah! _ ) but it's fun. Really fun, as is the tiny little cracking sound that tells her his ribs have finished knitting.

Of course, that makes her consider the lifespan of the brands themselves. "Mmm," she hums, chewing on her lip again to accompany the pleasuring pleasant thought... with just a bit of spice. Suddenly she bites down hard as it becomes concrete.

Tweaking a finger around on his rump, she traces the left star. "It's kinda nice you'll heal," Courtney says, her rumbling voice cutting through his helpless whimpers. Her nipples stiffen as she sets him down again.

_ Van's _ weak knees  _ truly _ knock before her.

"I mean," she groans, "That's really all you're good for, but I'm going to love doing that again… and again… and  _ again… _ "

Sobbing, he starts to slump towards the ground, but Courtney arrests  _ that _ tendency right quick. It doesn't take much. Just the lightest motion of her hips and shoulders, so broad he could stand three abreast with clones and still not be out of her embrace-- just that alone enough to get him to freeze in abject terror.

Her Hungers ride, and she rides the wave of their delights. It almost gets her to cream right there.  _ Stupid little jerk. Almost does not get you a happy Courtney! _

Courtney promises herself she'll make him flex with her-- maybe after she lets him feel some more directly. His fear makes perfect sense, makes her preen a bit even.  _ Of course he can see every line of every last little band of fiber making up my muscles with even those li'l twitches. _

_ Nothing but skin between him and every last gram of muscle, and every muscle outlined perfectly. _ _ It must be so frightening, the poor little jackass, to see this much woman, this much strength, in just a little shift. Barely motion at all. _

It's hard for her not to purr at Van's feeble little body.  _ So much more than he can ever do. Even the deep tissue is reflected, pushing the superficials' shape to resemble the whole. _

Inhaling deeply, Courtney's grin broadens almost as much as her flexed-out arms. Abruptly, her left hand reaches down to seize his so-stiff shaft once more. His yelp is far prettier than his squeal.

"Owe you a few almosts, I think," she says with a smug smile. Her pointer strokes along the length of his cock, taking her time to feel every tremble, every twitch of it, confirming what his scent whispered.

"But not too much… because you finally  _ did _ have some discipline whether you wanted it or not, didn't you?"

Van shivers. "It felt-- good," he admits slowly. "Watching you… even feeling you, even feeling your punishment-- it felt so good, and then, when I came close… it almost felt…"

He swallows deeply, millennia of pride choking the admission from his throat. Part of her contemplates punishment for that almost, too. But he is naked to her in more than skin.

He's expecting retribution, banking on it to harden his pride. 

_ So transparent. _ She can see the little set in his body language, the twists of his fingers that would have been into fists if he'd had the courage or will left for it.  _ Punishment as well as reward should have an element of randomness. _

_ Lest he find any of it settle too easily into a routine. _


	27. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Van Savage has been the only food for Courtney Whitmore for the past few hours. Fortunately, that doesn't mean literally devouring him. Unfortunately, it means she's depended on him for her necessary diet of sex, pain, and pain.
> 
> At last, all things come together. Where her Hunger lessens, and his pride falls away. Where her relentless need to dominate is met by his shuddering realization that there has been a single constant in all his failures, thwartings, and losses.
> 
> Vandal Savage.
> 
> His mind and body are hers. Through his pleasure, primarily, but tuned to enjoy the humiliation her ceaseless Hungers demand. Not so badly now.
> 
> After all, he's cute like this, her little weasel. He's learning, swiftly, that what matters is what pleases her, and that only in pleasing her is his own to be found. Her climaxes goad him on, fascinating him and devouring his need to conquer, and he knows...
> 
> That he volunteered-- more or less.
> 
> That it isn't just her terrifying musculature, her all-encompassing beauty, nor even the threat of pain that drives him to please her, to be hers.
> 
> Ultimately, he knows that he serves because she wants it, and he can do no else.

Poor, poor Vandal Savage. Van Savage, now. Slave-- at best a fucktoy, at worst a vizier-- and the only food for a very powerful Hunter.

Tens of thousands of years old, he is responsible for the ancient enmity of pre-Pulse Hunters against men. Honestly, given his sexist ways and the backlash against the Hunters, he's probably literally responsible for why Hunters  _ after _ the Pulse aren't very fond of men, either. It's not the least thing he's fucked up over the years.

But it may be the reason why he is Courtney's handyo-- handyman?  _ I gotta think of a better title. I may have real handmaidens after all. _

Well. Her nipples throb, growing larger and stiffer by the second.  _ I dunno that many of my best generals and champions will want to be called hand _ maidens _ but I'm gonna be nice to  _ them _ and let them pick. _

Courtney croons lightly as she runs two fingers down to the base, each individually brushing-- not even flicking-- against his balls. "It's good for you, Van," she tells him, watching him flinch away from pleasure and permissivity far more than he would from the crack of her hand.

"You know it. I definitely know it. Just let  _ go _ ," she urges him. Her voice has more of the lilt than the rumble now, but it rolls through him anyway.

"Well… not  _ all _ of it…" She winks. "Just everything that's important to you… but not to me."

Her wicked grin makes it clear why. Tears form, too, following the drops she'd licked away. Exhaustion adds itself to the mix on Van's musk-covered face, and she has to squeeze just a little bit to keep him standing.

In this, too, she is merciless. Even the squeeze sends a jolt of arousal, not pain. She prods him on with each masturbatory caress and the crush of sympathetic words.

"You can let it go, Van," Courtney repeats again, giving him a gentle smile and an inquisitive head tilt. As though all he has to do to please her now is stop fighting.

It might be enough, even.

"All pride has ever gained you are a few kingdoms that always crashed into dust before you could make them truly last." Half-forgotten histories are more than enough to remember, so she does. "Even if you were Genghis Khan that makes, what, your most successful run how long ago, and for how long?"

Van whimpers, more from the strain of being her focus than from any actual pain. "It was--" he starts, and plunges in to recollection.

She's impressed, and saddened, that he remembers the details so well-- down to the moment he had to bring it down.  _ He's got quite the memory, for a human, but it's… not really healthy for him, now or before, to obsess over the details like this. _

_ Or rather-- to try to paper over the obvious hole in in his plans: his pride. The same willpower and determination that will make him into a decent steward for  _ me _ turn on him like scorpions with him through the river of lifetimes. They will always sting him, again and again. _

Courtney wants him to think about that, so she spurs him-- metaphorically-- onwards with rewarding strokes of her hand. The tip of his cock is rests easily between the two firm eminences of her palm, his precum pooling in the V-shape within. It leaves his sensitized, almost pleasure-dancing member cradled deeply in her hands, so that when she pulls her fingers back, the squeeze of the flexed muscles covers every part of his prick in sensuous pressure.

There are any number of benefits to her senses. One is this: the closer he comes to climax, the more regret he feels, the more his neurochemistry and biochemistry shift towards a sweet mix. She gets to scent that all, to taste it within moments of seeing it within him.

It makes her suck her lower lip under her teeth once more; the fragrance of him is so delicious that it pays for any boredom waiting for him to get to her point.  _ Okay, _ she admits to herself.

_ Sometimes an almost  _ prompt _ may be okay-- with a good dinner and a show. _

Courtney moves slowly, listening to him babble through his memory. Her fingers rub only a slight bit of friction along the sides of his shaft, warm but not painful, making sure to set off his nerves into little pulses of pleasure each time he follows a thread. She only stifles his climaxes when he's dancing around his failures, letting him come quite close to cum when he's actually on target.

_ You know, if he told me right now that he sees what he's done to himself, I might even let him cum early… unpunished. _

But Van can't do that, not yet. She'd have to have him so deep into euphoria that he'd say anything she wanted, and its meaning would be no more solid than a dream. No less solid, either, but not a real, true statement of enlightenment.

Soon, he's just moaning and mumbling the words. It doesn't bother her  _ too _ much. Not with how tasty he smells.

Not with how much it makes him look like the prey he is.

It's mostly just little diversions now. Explanations of explanations babbled softly as he tries to search for  _ fault _ not labeled "Vandal Savage, Master of Hubris." She discovers a little pity, even, so she just pats him gently on the cheek with her right hand.

"There we go," Courtney coos at him. "You can see it, can't you? Where it all came crashing down-- and whose hand brought it."

She winks, and wrinkles her nose. "I enjoy humiliating you, Van-- I feed on it. But it will be healthier when you just submit to that without all this fighting."

A protest dies in Van's throat just as easily as a slight pinch at the root of his throbbing tool ends yet another attempt to cum. She shakes her head. "No, it's fine."

Her voice is almost soothing-- but with a hint of seduction and a glaze of strength. "Just remember, you  _ can't  _ fight me," she purrs. "Not at any venue, in any mode. Not and win."

She kisses him again, but to this, she gives fire. Her tongue explores his mouth aggressively. So thoroughly, so fiercely-- as though she had somehow forgotten the taste of him moaning her name.

She has  _ not _ , but the refresher is delicious. She breaks the lip-lock with another indulgent smile.  _ He really is slow. _

_ Good thing he's cute, too! _

"Leave it, Van," she says, waving her hand airily away. "There's no need to pull on that thread right now."

_ Not of a specific failure, or series, anyway. How he can follow the thread from the Fire Dog year of Cycle 66 to 1943 Common Era like that and not see  _ himself as _ the thread, I don't know. Sure, I didn't see the connection between not doing my day 8 homework and getting a C on my year-end algebra final but I was a teenager! _

So, chuckling softly, Courtney moves the conversation back to where it should be-- where she wants it. "So--  _ tell _ me," she orders. "How does failure really, truly feel?"

She gently traces a question-mark pattern over his dick, leaving the tracks as sensation, not the mark of her nail. He gets the point. Just not the edge-- other than her firm forbiddance of orgasm, that is.

She really is physically gentle with her Van this time, as relentless as her questioning may be. The light touches are actually light on his human scale, just setting him off into pleasured convulsions once more. Her other hand pets his branded buttocks, caressing them slowly, letting him feel the rewards of obedience and the price of hesitation.

It's as certain a trap as the scissor of her legs would be around his chest. Pinned between the foreground and the backside. He cannot avoid the question this time.

Cannot avoid the truth.

"I loved it," Van whispers. Whispering isn't good enough now. She raises an eyebrow, and he winces, even though the worst she does is continue to pleasure him manually.

Really-- there's not even a cause to stifle; he's back to holding himself back, or trying. The eyebrow remains raised 

Courtney enjoys humiliating him deeply, but more for re-making him than for the feeding. "You'll learn that's not a bad thing, little guy," she tells him fondly, petting his dick like it was his hair.

She smiles at Van. Then she waits. Lets it pulse through him.

"You will," she promises. "Because you should love it. Because the shame is  _ good _ for you."

There's a bit of doubt on his face, but she squelches her desire to punish even more thoroughly than she squelches his newest near-climax.  _ He's so close. Let's give him the key. _

"Do you know why, Van?" she asks, rolling her fingers and palm over his shaft and crown, all at once. "Do you know  _ why _ it's good for you?"

Van doesn't. "T-to teach m…" She shakes her head, cutting him off.

"That's part of it, pretty little man," Courtney rumbles. "But that's just incidental. Because  _ you're _ just incidental."

Now, her fist closes around his cock completely. "It's good for you because it feeds me." Her smile and her eyes widen together.

"It  _ pleases _ me, Van. How much you love your failure. How much of a worm you know you are."

Before he can do more than moan, she yanks him forward by the dick. Carefully, Courtney stops him with only her hand's thickness between him and dribbling onto her thigh again.  _ Oh, he'll be cleaning it either way again. _

"It pleases me," she repeats. "Your  _ shame _ . Give it to me, Van!"

Van obeys. Shamelessly. Sort of.

He still has some, but it's pouring out along with his precum, slicking her hand as she balances him between orgasm pain yet again. She holds the center of his attention on more than just his cock. His whole body quivers yet again, hopeful she'll release him, terrified that even an actual climax wouldn't satisfy his need.

Which is, of course, the point.  _ It won't satisfy, sweetie. Not the need. And bringing you over to another adorable little orgasm is not  _ intended  _ to satisfy. Just to give you a little rest from this form of needing. I want you to always, always, need more me. _

So she kisses him so hard it stings.

In moments he's gurgling. Not screaming, just gurgling as though he's taking a one-way trip within.  _ EUGH bad metaphor, bad! _

Though she is devouring Vandal Savage from her Van, true enough. With kisses. And a handjob.

Of course, the handjob includes orgasm denial, free of charge, and the last kiss was so hard it left bruises. Only to be expected. After all, he volunteered to be hers.

From a certain point of view.

He lets out a gurgling cry, which she honestly considers to be just not trying; she didn't break his jaw again or anything. Her own climax hits, good and hard as the pain sinks in beyond the flesh. It eats at him while her inner sex flutters and clenches, the chewing force of his humiliating understanding almost as good as an actual eating out.

Or rather, then eating out he'll give when he's trained; she's prepared for more disappointments tonight. For the moment, though, Courtney's panting, shuddering moans drive him closer and closer to the orgasm she told him would end with a total loss of cock. But he gets closer and closer.

She's devouring his Savage-ness. Savagery is a Hunter virtue-- and a Hunter, Van is not. Everything that has sabotaged his world conquests again and again-- his pride, his selfishness, his self-importance-- that's what she's feeding on.

And it's pushing him to the razor edge.

Is it her climax that goads him? Leaving him watching the humiliating spectre of his new owner cream-- but not from the touch of his pathetic dick.

No, from feeling him in her hand. Feeling how hard his cock gets when he realizes how fucking horny her claiming makes him. Her pussy's pleasure owns him, too.

Could that be it? No, just part of the overall package. Just part of what makes him near-cum like the bitch he is.

Is it her muscles that makes him want to jizz? A rippling body that even scaled down would humiliate Arnold even at his prime-- and that's before she used a pinkie to beat his entire posse at armwrestling.

Scaled up, she's a muscle-goddess, dominating and owning even the very concept of strength here. Should Heracles rear his head once more, it would only be to suck on the very bottom of her rigid, basketball-sized calves. Her wimpy little slut is definitely feeling his balls tighten, looking at her majestic mass.

That's part of it, too.

Maybe it's her tits. She had a nice rack before, far outsized to what her constant athletics would suggest, but now, even one of her boobs would slap poor Kara right off a scale-- and that's if she was able to use her whole chest.

Like many a male or female shall, her little bitch here is utterly drooling after her nipples.  _ He's gonna just love what happens when I shove them into him. _ The thought makes her pecs tighten up-- and then her jugs, tighter.

_ Or I will, anyway. It's bigger than his fist, it's going to take more than a little shoving.  _ She laughs in his face again.

His prompt neargasm adds to her gales of laughter, even if it 'forces' her to pinch off certain tubes again.

That's all part of it.

Is it the threat of having his dick ripped off that makes it come so close to jizzing? Maybe he enjoys that deep down. They both know he'd recover-- especially since Courtney can cauterize the wound, apparently-- but they also both know just how much that will hurt.

The idea pleases the hungry rage burning inside her, but the rest of her mentally rolls eyes.

_ Meh. I'd have to wait for him to knit it back. I can save that for a special occasion, like Taco Tuesdays. _

No-- the more she presses, the more Van panics. He's afraid of that. He's just lucky she doesn't find that sexy.

The answer is… axiomatic.

_ Ah. That's it. He's so close to cumming because I want him to be-- and he doesn't have any other choice. _

_ Poor little weasel. _

Their eyes meet again. Her smile is devilish; Van's, helpless. The First Murderer is squirming around and utterly overwhelmed.

The former Stargirl is now the muscle mistress who owns him, and that's all she needs to be. "You know too, don't you?" she asks

He just moans. Moans, and writhes his hip, rutting forward. She stops the rut, and holds him fast.

"That's it, sexy," Courtney giggles at him. Her tongue sweeps out over her lips again, fist-sized nipples throbbing all the harder, and her toenails rub against the unmoving stone.

Her toes may curl, but stone and even hard-packed dirt or sand will always refuse her now-- on the changed Earth.

"Just let yourself go. You have Courtney's permission. Cum your little brains ri-i-ight out…"

All she needs is her finger, of course. She can feel the sensitive nerve endings, for pleasure as well as pain. Van tried to cum when she touched him, but she didn't permit it, and for all she gives permission now, she takes it slow, building up her delights.

She wonders if he knows his place.

And to Courtney's delight, he does.  _ He's learned so fast! Or maybe he just doesn't want to suffer like last time… and he knows I'll find more ways to enjoy it myself. _

Licking her lips, she looks over her meat. That's all he is, living, breathing fuckmeat. So is he two lessons ahead of "don't jizz unless your goddess says so?"

Has he made it to knowing the difference between permission and an order? Or is he simply far too ensnared to act without the latter?  _ Hmm-- oooo! _

The feeding sends shivers down to her very core. Her pussy clenches, aching for a dick that might actually satisfy her, and ready to do awful things to one that can't. Van's position in that hierarchy being clear, she debates quite what to do to him now.

Feast her Drives on Van, of course. A little bit more use. A little bit more abuse.

She chews on her inner lip, light shudders making more of her divinely defined muscles display in the tension, rippling up from her wrist as she plays with him-- as she shames him.

"Can't do it yet, huh, baby?" Courtney moans, feeling the quivers rev up in her quim again. "Which makes you feel worse, huh?"

"That my wrist is beefier than those pencils you call arms?" He's looking down at that, of course, staring at every impossible line of strength in shock, and horror-- and arousal. But his eyes keep drifting… 

Panting, she gives a hazy, pleasure-fogged smile. "Nah, that's not the worst, is it?" Her purr trails off into a deeper groan.

"Mm… ah…" He just moans.

Wrong answer. Tired of his silent stupor, Courtney leans across him until her lips are at his left ear, her hair draping over him like claiming fingers. "Speak, jerk!"

_ If I have to make him arf… _

It jolts him, but she keeps him pinned in place-- by fingertip. The First Cannibal, the full strength of his body devoured by just her pointer finger, said tip now positively smeared with his weak, thin little pre. "N-no, Courtney," he whines.

Tears fall yet again, and she indulges herself, licking them up. The punching bag bomf of her breasts slams into him. Their heavy squishiness knocks him around as she shudders in raw pleasure at his all-encompassing fear.

_ Almost all-encompassing, actually. Which means  _ almost  _ an orgasm for me. Fucker, you'd best get with my freaking program. _

"Say it," she growls. "Say it! You don't want to make me mad, do you, Van?"

Her breath catches as she looks him up and down. There's something fun about walking her gaze over him-- letting him know exactly what she's looking at and what she prizes in him.

_ Forget letting my fingers do the walking. I'm going to let my eyes do the fingering. Mmm. _

That which she prizes in him has now become that which he desires to be, it seems. The utter terror and blanket pain she has him in has put him into a fugue state of horniness. As endlessly safe as her promise makes him, she's given him a unique little ride. Her repeated, systemic shocks to his body and mind have left him in the kind of arousal that only comes from being this near to death.

The look's cute on Van, and that saves him from deeper pain. She's fed enough to appreciate some yumminess, and almost fed enough to reward it. He's kept her nice and horny by being a squirmy little bitch, but this look is even better.

Some guys just look better in their natural state-- deer for her headlights.

_ Aw, well, the horny side is mostly the Drives, but his squirming is really nice too! _ Honestly, how weak he is had gotten Courtney's nips a bit soft. Had.

After all-- there's a point at which prey isn't fun any more. He's nearly there. That said…

This look-- this look of utter humiliation, as he finds that, yes, she can degrade him further, that gets her big girls' not-so-little tips right pokey again.

"It's… it's…" He groans. She's patient, pleased even, with what her control does to him.

His hips rut forward uselessly. Unless she moves her finger-- and why would she?-- Van is only hurting himself.

Courtney especially isn't going to move her finger right now. Not with how cute it looks when he smashes his cock against her finger. The force of it makes his little nuts bounce as they tighten with the cum he's been permitted but doesn't have the will to unleash.

_ Speaking of, speaking of... _

There he goes.  _ Realization strikes, does it, Van? _ "It's your finger, Courtney!"

Her other hand comes up, blocking his attempt to throw his head back with his wail.

Unexpected kindness touches Courtney. That, or the obscene rush his horrified confession gives her makes her a bit less horny for his pain. She might even be starting to get fed enough to fuck him.

It even makes her smile. She doesn't even crack his skull this time; she just forces him to keep looking down between them. If she's going to have to crouch to keep him in check, he's damn well going to watch.

"Aww, Van," she chuckles, slowly circling her finger around and around, rotating his prick like a straw. Precum squirts past-- when she lets it, otherwise enjoying that stifling just as much.

_ There we go.  _ The little splurts give her more with which to tease his already super-twitchy tool, but that's it. She's in total control here, as with anything else.

Van will cum-- only when she makes him. The only reason she's bothering to force pleasure on him is that she doesn't want him shrinking in entirely.

"So tell me-- is it the fact my middle finger is longer and thicker than your dinky little dork? Or is it that the pointer's just about as long… and you're so weak it's like you're humping a wall?"

Another wail. He really is the pathetic slut she named him.  _ I'll give him this almost-- he's not  _ too _ pathetic. _

_ At least he's well groomed, takes showers. Clean beneath the foreskin. That much I'll give him. _

But Van is her slut, now. Her muscle-worshipping, pain-loving slut, trained in just a few swift minutes. And she doesn't surrender that which is hers.

Courtney barely has to push at all to make him cum the very moment of the final question. Just lightly tilt his tip so it splurts its load all over her thigh. If she wasn't crouched over, he wouldn't be able to do it; even with her knee halfway down to the floor, she has to aim him up.

The gasping and grunting is sad. Not even more than irritating. Just sad.

She never thought she'd have to teach Van how to squeal right so much. Not in depth tonight, though. Otherwise, his attempt at a climax...

It's… adequate, actually. Made his teeny twenty-five centimeters bulge a bit, and she loves watching those sore, overfull nuts force themselves to empty. Ropey, thicker than she'd thought given how pathetic the pre was, but still watery compared to what her puss knows it deserves.

_ Oh, Van, I guess that's why I have to choose your diet, too.  _ She makes sure he knows, by implication. Her left hand makes sure he watches as he spends himself, useless as his struggles, all over her rippling left quad.

Then she shoves her right finger into his mouth. "Clean," she orders, and he sucks his messy leaving so well she's reminded that he predates the current prejudices.

_ Huh, humiliating him right here might actually be a challenge. _

_ There are other ways to make someone burn just by lapping up their own cum,  _ she supposes. She can see every twitch, every unconscious and autonomic reaction, as well as the faint despair in his eyes.

_ A challenge? Nah. There's enough centuries' worth of Vandal Savage, First Asshole, to hate being made my slave and to hate himself for enjoying it, too. _

_ Which means at least a couple of months worth of fun for me!  _ She pops her finger out of his mouth, and wipes it on his chest. The coolness of the rest of the so-called wad irks her-- especially as it lingers.

When Van just stands there, unable to even look at her heaving tits in his shame, she clears her throat. "I'm sure I don't have to order you a second time. You didn't think you were done, did you Van?"

Van's eyes grow wider-- she didn't think he could manage that anymore.  _ Good boy! Who's Courtney's good little fucktoy? _

Out loud, she smirks. "I can see it in you. You have no secrets from me." 

The only answer he can manage to that is another whine. Trembling, he tries to move forward, stops, shaking his head.  _ Doiiiinnng goes the boy-brain! _

"If you need it that badly," she coos, "When you're worshipping my muscles, you can do it on your knees. Of course, since that just leaves you my calves normally, you'd better-- there we go!"

Taking the hints-- insults-- properly, Van kneels down. Her thigh flexes broader than his shoulders, just from the simple action of crouching forward. Honestly, it's broader than his shoulders at rest, but she adds a little flex, and that almost pops him off to another climax on the heels of the first.

It's dual purpose, of course. In her strength, she shows him another band-by-band map of how much stronger she is than he. After all, those single bands are far more powerful than every punch he's thrown in fifty thousand years, combined.

She also uses the abruptness of the flex to flick some of his own seed right into his eyes.

_ Okay, this, this I am not going to grow tired of. _

It's beautiful. The most beautiful thing about him. "Good slut, real good," Courtney half-grunts, half-coos again, as he just keeps moving forward, not even wiping his face. 

As sexy looks go-- utterly obedient-- it's definitely one she'll recommend to the next boy she meets. And the next one.

And the next girl. Honestly, she may have to make a guidebook: "To Serve Courtney: Hello, Meat."


	28. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promise of Van's tongue brings Courtney Whitmore pleasure everywhere now, and as he worships her muscles, they flex and bulge while her curves jiggle and command. Some part of her thanks those long-ago Hunters, for all their appetites frightened him into setting events in motion leading... here. To where she must hurt and rape the few or the one to preserve the many and the beloved.
> 
> After all, they taught him to love a muscular, powerful woman, and she is one of the most muscular and most powerful women there's ever been.
> 
> But more importantly, the queen she will be, Queen Star, rises within her. The queen he made her, when he detonated the Cosmic Converter Belt, increasing her powers and her Hungers to terrible heights. At least now he finds it right and righteous that she should be so much more than he is.
> 
> Now, he finds it inspirational-- all but orgasmic. Only the last gasps of his fear and pride remain between him and total service to her. It may take her a little bit more, but he's on the right road.
> 
> And he truly does understand that she is his goddess, now.

"Unhnf… mmm." She's surprised, honestly. Another panting groan makes her throw back her head and grind the unyielding wall of her thigh over his face.

Not by how fast he is to get to this. But by how close his worshipful tongue is to a decent massage.  _ It's a start. _

"You have used that tongue in the past, huh? I thought you'd be the kind to just focus on yourself, but maybe you…" Her memory tries to thwap her cranky-insult center in the nose with a finger or two.

_ Oh! Right! He did say _ . "You  _ have  _ met a real woman before, haven't you?"

Van freezes-- not that he has much choice. It takes such a tiny bit of strength to suddenly pin his tongue-tip between one groove of her quads and the next. Not that it's a tiny motion.

She doesn't get those below the waist. Not even by comparison. None at all, not even her toes.

A motion that starts Courtney's hips that can't be small. Not with hips wider than a queen size bed is long. Not when they're packed with both succulent, wriggling fat and terrifying, chiseled muscle.

And the motion that snagged Vandal Savage started in her ass.

She groans, feeling it squirm through her. "Too bad you're just a man, huh, my pretty little caveman?" she groans.

"You can't see my ass from there-- not enough of it. But you will… soon soon."

The squirms travel everywhere. They start in her ass, and that's where the power is, but she can't help but shake her bust about, wriggle her toes, shimmy her shoulders and her head. It feels so good.

Framed and bracketed by her bed-width hips, Courtney Whitmore's ass is a religious experience. To know even the slightest of its jiggles is to be enlightened, to be drawn to the worship of Butt. A privilege she plans to bestow upon her weaselly little pain-slut before the evening's end.

For now, though, that's all it takes, that almost tiniest of motions..

"Oh!" she moans again, shuddering pants following. Her quads tighten up, just a bit, and Van's tongue-tip is suddenly held more surely than an urban myth about winter flagpoles. Captured, he becomes an even lower worm.

She doesn't let him be an active submissive, permitted freedom to clean his muscle-mistress. No, now his cum drips slowly from her, onto his tongue. Onto his face.

Dripping. Washing humiliation over him with each splatter.  _ So  _ good _ , Vanny! _

The drops-- the flecks on his tongue, the desperate response-- is an aphrodisiac for the big Hunter. Seeing him like this sends pleasured shivers up and down Courtney's whole big body that may have started in her behind but concentrate in the front. Suddenly, the taut bands of her thighs are soaked by a lot more fluid than his measly climax could produce.

_ Uhn.. Ohhhh. That's an idea... _

Closing her eyes, she pants as thought becomes deed. "Hey, Van…" she purrs.

Feasting on Van's humiliation, she can't stop herself from making a precise rolling motion of her already quivering ass.

Her thighs twitch and flick. She releases him to avoid hurting him, but he's so slow! She easily has him back in exactly the same striated trap the moment fresh splatter coats his face.

She can, of course, see it. See the new moistness drenching him… and how much there is.

_ Yep! Got just a teeny gush of my juiced on him and it's still more than his own jizz on me! Just me lubing up for girth he doesn't have! That's freaking fantastic. _

Courtney loves it. One of the greatest, nastiest, most effective threats of the old Ages, a nightmare literally going back to the caves, and now… Now everything she does, she does bigger than him.

His spent seed flings away too. She's generous. She controls the arc so it also lands all over Van's face, further painting in his shame.

Not to mention finding ways to emphasize his shame-ness.  _ Hah. Still more of mine than his. _

Courtney squeezes a little harder. Her toy is drawn in close, twitching and making muffled noises. Helpless, his hands fail wide to either side, and it's kind of cute, really.

Her little bitch is trying to speak without touching any of her with an unbidden body part.  _ I mean… I  _ guess _ I want him understanding lapses of orders and consent, yeah... _

"Aww, who's a good boy?" Courtney laughs. Apparently, he can learn, even when she's self-educating.

"That's interesting. You did know about the… Rite, did you call it?" 

A whining sound is all that answers her. That at more handsy flailing.  _ So much for learning... _

"Oh, honestly, Van!" she huffs. "Cross your wrists behind your back if you don't know what to do with your hands."

She chuckles, shifting slightly and yanking him around by his tongue again. Just like before, the sudden motion splatters more of his cum onto his face. His humiliation pleasures her far more than even the instant obedience of his hands.

Slowly, she releases the grip of her fractal striations. But really, she has confirmation, and it's not relevant right now. Not compared to how horny she is

"We'll talk about that later." It feels so natural to quirk the left corner of her eye and lips simultaneously, whilst her lazy lower body flex pushes more and more strength up. Outlining it beneath pale, already stretched skin.

"You've got work to finish."

Courtney is patient, of sorts, using the endless seconds it takes him to finish lapping up his wasted spooge to plan for her after. For the after when her sadism and sex drives are well-fulfilled. The after in which she can start to salvage some good out of the end of the world.

Some good, for those whom she loves.

Humanity-- and metahumanity-- are not really on the list as more than an abstract aspiration. Courtney knows she can't protect everyone any more. Accepts it.

_ I have my limits. Even the part of me that wants to start monologuing knows that. _ She already feels the urge to claim territory, but she's not going to bother with New York.

Too many other Hunters fighting for it. Some might even be in her weight class-- or close enough to gang up on her.

_ Besides. I have a greater need. A greater cause. _

So she must do what she can, once her needs and Drives will no longer tip the scales of chaos too far into disaster. She will protect what she claims, but to claim, she must go home.  _ And by home, I don't mean JSA HQ. _

She has her priorities. First, civilians in her path. She will save everyone who will follow

She cannot afford to spend herself flailing all over the world, through and in the territory of other Hunters.  _ Nor can I spend my sanity dry trying to make myself believe they all matter.  _ Her eyes would water, but that's not the lesson she wants Van to deal with-- yet.

_ I'm so sorry, mom, Pat. Heroing was nice while it lasted. Now, when I am stronger than all the world used to be? _

_ Now I, too, am bound. I can't be bound by laws or steel. But in this terrible and awe-inspiring new world… I am further bound by the cold equations of necessity and reach. _

And that settles the lot of civilians. Some part of her will mourn for them. Some part of her will always lean on negotiations to make their lives better.

But since approximating perfection is still not perfection, she will not let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

Next, allies. Some individuals, and of course, whatever fragments of the Justice League remain. She respects many of them, but they're not her family. 

They'll survive other Hunters if they kneel-- mostly. She'll keep them if they beg for sanctuary-- mostly. That's all she can spare, on the changed Earth.

Dearer to her heart, grudging as the adoption has been, family-- the JSA.

Her family-family. Her siblings. Her parents

_ I pray to G… to God Mom convinced him to protect the neighborhood, like when the Dominators came. Statistically, Blue Valley is small enough there may not even be another Hunter there. _

The time she needs to quiet two of her Drives worries her, abruptly. It bothers her that she wants to finish wringing a few hours of pleasure out of Van before going home.  _ But why? _

_ I can reach them as fast as Barry could, maybe as fast as Wally! Why not have my fun? Especially since if I don't… Mom and Pat are going to be hard enough to deal with. Boinking the neighbor and leaving him naked on his SUV's hood will not improve our relationship. _

The remnant concern fades, though she wishes she were above ground and could double-check her home. She's even more glad her half-sister isn't at college yet, and Mike should be with Pat.

_ Wait, college? Patricia?  _ I'm  _ in college! _

It shocks her for a moment, thinking of the missing from her list. Her friends from college-- there's only a faint tug there. The firm force of Courtney Whitmore beneath the sheath of Courtney the Hunter--  _ Wait. _

_ Crisis of Too Many Courtneys. Hrmrmph. I want a special name still, not that I care to make a secret of my identity… _

The view of Van's asscheeks, branded by the talent of her hands, brings a smile and inspiration.  _ What about just Star? _ That could work-- and does.

Courtney Whitmore-- forever the heart of Star the Hunter-- will save her friends if she can, when she can collect them. But she knows how dangerous she will be to them until her drives are fed.

Speaking of. Her Van is done… and trembling. He's fed greedily on his jizz, and fed her by doing so.

"That's a hungry little bitch," Star coos. "I'd reward you properly, really, I would."

"But you seem like the kind of dickwad who thinks being a nasty sinister jackass lets him off the hook for learning how to be fucked. I'm going to have to train you first." She draws her pointer fingers along the outside of her vulva, just in case he's being slow again.

Still shuddering as her femmecum soaks his shirt and his own cum drips down from his face to his neck Van protests weakly. "I've… I've spent thousands of y--"

Star waves his futile attempt away with an airy gesture. "You can spend thousands of years doing the wrong thing." She points with a thumb at the thin white smear sliding over his face. "Impress me. Tell me what you'll do with that.

"Whatever my owner says."

Star squees at that. She can't help it. "You can learn! It's a miracle!"

First she clasps her hands together over her chest and under her cheek, tilting her head as she demonstrates proper squealing (Hunter-grade). Then, before Van can recover from the sonic burst her clap generates, she swoops down, her massively muscled arm wrapping around him to hug him up against her immense right boob, letting his sickly squirming pleasure her. It's nice; very nice, even.

The hypersensitivity of Star's body to pleasure is no weakness. Hunters don't have those; even stronger Hunters have no more luck with a tit jab or a cunt punch than going for, say, the belly. So the myriad extra nerve endings that make her titty sing as Van's writhing approximates the attentions of a more relevant lover's hand are simply an extra favor.

But all he does is approximate. Even his submissive helplessness only makes up for so much inadequacy. How to get the best out of cuddling him, then?

_ Hmm. _ The galaxy of little required autonomic secondary powers that metahumans take for granted are at the full disposal of a Hunter.  _ Hey, if Kal can be soft enough to hug, say, a kitten, and I can touch the ground without shattering the remaining concrete… _

Time to experiment with someone who doesn't matter quite so much as a kitten.

Moaning, she grinds him over the sensitive wall breastflesh, giggling happily as her experiment pays off.  _ Little cutie doesn't realize how lenient I'm being. _ Star slowly ratchets up the tension in her pecs-- and makes the squishiness of her melons less and less permeable to a non-Hunter.

Should she desire, she can take that right up to utter immobility-- matched with unstoppable force. Smoosh could become smash.

That's not Van's fate. It might have been. He's disappointing her again.

She's better fed, but still.  _ I do have standards!  _ No, for now, he's just trapped between her implacable forearm, thicker than the duffle bag would be even full of spellbooks, and the even heavier funbag off which she's bouncing him.

Yes, she has standards. Standards she's too fed up and too well fed to leave to him alone. The fingers of her left hand engage themselves, more expertly tweaking and tugging on her left nipple.

"Oh, mmm,  _ yeah! _ " Just the casual stroke of five big digits are so much better than and pleasing to her than his entire body being battered around the suddenly rigid cushion of her right tit. Sexually, anyway.

_ As a piece of ass-- nah, that he isn't ever going to make it much over "not sad." Bet you I need to catch a weaker Hunter for that. But as a piece of fuckmeat… _

As that, Van is delectable enough, his fear and bruises enough to get her sex soaked once more. She just keeps him trapped, battered and bouncing, until first the cum is wiped off his face, then back onto him. It's her pecs that do the bouncing; her shuddering, panting gasps follow the tightening of just individual parts of the tire-sized muscles to smack him back and forth between the hugging arm and his chesty fate.

Eventually, after Star makes sure to cum at least twice, she prepares to start his real training. The orgasms are a necessity. Even satiated, the standards she's training him to meet can be dangerous to him.

_ Intellectually, I know I have to train him to meet those standards. But I feel like a queen. Like my bitch should come pre-trained. _

"Of course, fifty thousand years can be a point against you, little man," she says. His confusion is clear, but she doesn't bother to patch him in.

She's not sure, despite his demonstrated ability to learn, that he actually has gotten a woman off, not really off, in his fifty thousand years. So she wants to make sure he knows what it looks like-- and, at a distance, feels like.

Quite a distance, in some respects. In others, he's surrounded by the devastating force of her orgasms. The gushing torrent of her pussy will have him soon, but the thundering earthquake of her mountainous tits makes sure he is covered in the feel of her climax.

It's so much more than his orgasms could ever be; indeed, when she cums, it threatens to be greater than his entire fifty-thousand year existence.

If the only differences were their heights, she'd be nearly five times as massive by volume. But that would require her, a Hunter, the ultimate predator of super-predators, to be that weak. To be so spindly and breakable as her adorable little Van.

But she's not. He's only had the strength of hundreds of lifetimes honing himself into the apex of human murder-machines, after all. She had the Pulse.

_ Pulses. And who's fault was that? Courtney's special boy! _

"Do you think it's unfair?" she asks, ignoring his confused noises. Slowly her left arm curls up into a huge flex. "If I found some way to grow you, you still wouldn't match all this."

Her right hand gestures, the back of her hand trailing over the hardened perfection of her bicep. As the Pulse has left her, the unadulterated enormity of it all would have made her stronger than the Wildcat, master of the Sweet Science of boxing. Even had she neither grown nor gained powers, she'd have had a left hook that would leave poor Ted seeing chirping birdies.

Tears fill Van's eyes. "No," he whispers.

"Oh-h-h?"

"Not any more. It's fair, mistress. It's… right."

"Aw!" she coos. "Who's my sweet little bitch, huh? Who's it?"

She manages not to giggle when he whispers, "Me."  _ It feels… so… good! _

After all, she did grow, and she did gain in power. She gained in mass, too. Forget five times as big, baby.

Star is a Hunter, and she is more along the lines of eight to ten times as massive as Vandal Savage, the First Murderer. Perhaps more, when angered or truly aroused. Merely being a little over half her height makes him a reedy thing, owned, beaten, and soft even where he is hard.

And, in one way at least, her Van is indeed quite hard. Surrounded by the aftershocks his owner's pleasure-- twice!-- how could he not be? The ache of it is more than that she gave him, hammering him from flexing titty to flexing titty, reinforced by the huge pecs behind them.

She leaves him with the ache of a slave. It's so clear in his body. She sees it in his trembles, smells it on his flesh.

The desire to pleasure and please her outweighs every other need and dream of fifty thousand years of conquest.

Star approves.

Finally; he's getting it. It's a pity he's not tough enough to take a boobie beating for long enough to permanently smack down that rebellious little ego of his, the poor thing. Fifty thousand years of thinking he matters is going to be a hard habit to kick.

_ So much fun for me, though, so it all works out! _

It does, too. Star is looking forward to repeatedly training his fifty millennia of hubris into utter servitude over the next few years. Then, he'll surrender centuries of perfect service, as she deserves.

When she is done with him, she'll have a gift for any daughters he doesn't sire. She'll figure out how to keep him alive without his disgusting habits, like she said. She doesn't surrender what is hers.

_ I'm gonna feed the poor little thing healthier than he thought he wanted before, of course but given how drippy even his pent-up prickjuice was, I really doubt he's going to be the one to give me my babies anyway. _

The thought is almost sad. She can see how strong her regenerating eggs are now; she can feel how aggressive her immune system has become.  _ But no… _

_ There will be complications with becoming pregnant, but I know in my very soul that it will happen. _

A name she still does not recognize is hummed all around her: Gaia-Geb. And that is promise enough.

To work, now. Now that she's gotten a good hard set of climaxes on her own recognizance, she errantly drops Van again. She does have to giggle as he bumps his chest and head, twice on the head, over her invulnerable right nipple on the way down.

"Those bruises look so good on you, baby," Star rumbles. Then purrs; it is not a comforting noise.

"Purple is your color! Color of kings, right?" She goes back at last to stripping him, tearing his overcoat off in a single yanking motion. 

Her Van is bare of clothes but not of mess. And since she's not going to muck up books, memorized or not, she only has so much nearby to clean him with.  _ Oh, come on, me. _

_ It's not like I'm not chewing on my lower lip again with how much this turns me on. _ She cleans the loose mess off completely with the tattered remains of his clothing. It's… Really nice, actually.

Every humiliation of her slave is arousing. This final little stripping is definitely on the better, wetter side, denuding him of pretensions that he is anything but a possession. In the big things, in the little-- even well-fed, it feels almost as good as his face did between her thighs.

So Star takes a little extra time, wiping the stain of her own cum from his shirt over his nose for a while. Her order is gruff, harsh. "Remember that smell, First Cannibal," she growls.

"Remember it. Remember how I could have snapped your throat by accident-- and didn't. Remember how I could have crushed your head for your presumption-- and didn't."

Her deep voice is almost enraged now; her breath is coming in big, boob-heaving waves. "Remember that your life exists for one reason and one reason alone: to please me."

He nods, dumbstruck. Star inhales again, her nipples harder than his cock. "So in the future, remember my pussy, Van."

Blinking, Van stares up at her, nodding slowly. "Before you feed your weak little belly, even should you be starving, what must you eat?"  _ Okay, I can be harsh with ordering but that tum of his is so cute! _

She reaches down for his stomach; he shudders, but lets no whine taint his adoring answer. "Before my body is fed at all, I must eat your pussy!" he howls. It's the right answer.

Despite his fear, Van stretches his body out for her, doing his best to imitate a spread-eagle sacrifice. She doesn't have to push him; skin pulled taut as he all but re-pops his joints from their sockets, so eager is he to splay his arms out in submission. "Your pleasure is more important than food or drink or even a-- Augh!"

That bit of extemporizing earns him a swat of two fingers on his nose, breaking it and covering his face in blood. "You keep breathing, little bitch, and you stay hydrated. Now, blow."

Star holds his dumb old overcoat up to his nose, and makes him blow out the rest of the blood as he heals, and cleans him again.

Otherwise, she is no harsher than before. She's honestly feeling much more charitably inclined towards her little fuckboy now that she's a bit better fed. After all, she now knows just how well he will serve her endless drives.

Indeed, as she digs her nails into his unresisting flesh, bleeding him, she makes sure she's also jamming his nerves so his brain will detect precisely, oh, two-fifths pain as pleasure. It's easy for her. She's quite precise.

It makes Star smile so broadly he cries, but she enjoys that, too.  _ He should always feel some pleasure when I correct him; should always be erect when I punish him. Unless I order it otherwise. _

Her grin splits open, teeth gleaming nearly as bright as her eyes.  _ Not that I need to keep my little Vanny hard now! He's learned that much! _

As she maul-fondles Van's adorably pliant six-pack, he stares, entranced by the bounce of her breasts once more.

It's nice, but it's all just foreplay. Bored, she taps her lips, considering him as she straightens. Her shadow elongates, blocking the purple light out from him and leaving him bathed in the same blue illuminating her hungry cunt.

She's not ready for his bright ideas in that department yet, she picks him up again, planting him on the soft splendor of her right hip. The softness squooshes, conforming to his star-branded rump before leaving him on the hardness that broke his ribs before. It's a gentler trip up this time, but without any more consideration than she might a doll.

"A… a request, Star?" Van asks, when her melons finally settle enough that the First Murderer can think of anything other than her tits and her commands.

"No promises, cutie. Still-- just be respectful."

"Please-- you have broken me utterly." The shame in his voice surrenders a fresh surge of pleasure to Star, rippling up and following along the endless, chiseled expanse of her legs. She luxuriates in it, waving a hand at him to continue.

It's not much, just a little tightness, a little moistness, but it does add just a bit more deadliness to her already killer limbs.  _ Well, my arms are killer too. Killer-est limbs? _

_ I'll figure it out.  _ Forget lying across a baby grand while he composes arias to Star; her legs alone would take up the whole thing. Nothing short of a concert grand would do.

The question is plain on his face, but she isn't the interpreter here. So she waits; her waiting alone is punishment for him. She can see the sweat start to form before he feels it; sees the pitiful muscles of his neck and shoulders start to vibrate as he tries to force the words out.

Van's ego might be healing as fast as his body, and that won't do. There's so much more ego to beat down than his tiny caveman body, not even two thirds her height, could withstand. Even as an immortal.

But Star still feeling absurdly merciful-- merciful enough to warn him.  _ I'm done with that feeding, so _ .

"Silence doesn't sound like respect, Vanny. Don't start with me unless you can follow through." To emphasize her point, she shifts the hand holding him to her waist around.

She taps his chest. Lightly, even. Her Second Drive goes through the roof.

His scream follows, pleasing her far more than even his sudden thrashing against the huge tit to his left.

_ Honestly. Ugh. Got to get him doing body-sculpting, endurance training, "resistance" training… I'm going to need to get me some nice beefy trainers around just to keep my fuckboys and fuckgirls in shape, aren't I? _

_ More fun for me! _

All she did was flick her pinkie into his sternum. Another little love tap, and his ribs all got a very precise thunk, all of the meat on them echoing with the impact. Not enough to crack any of them, but enough to give him something to think about.

The brain he's so proud of--  _ Okay, maybe I shouldn't have scrambled that so much, but I was jonesing for his pain so bad!-- _ the brain of which Van is endlessly arrogant finally clicks.

He's slung on her hip like a marital aid for which she ran out of space to put in her tote bags. He doesn't get to have pride-- and it seems he realizes it.

"Please, Star-- may I know what title you prefer? Goddess? Skraʕk? Mistress?"

Star flicks her hip up, smooshing Van's head right into the so-sensitive (and once more padded-soft) oodles of endless breastflesh he's just beside. It's just an idle motion as the colossal column of her right leg picks up, danging her bare toes about as she considers. It does have two wonderful side-benefits.

First, with his face full of a titty that's stronger just from her whim than his whole body will ever be, his hapless cries are partially muted.

_ Don't miss the air, Van. You have pleased me. Are you enjoying not being able to breathe? _

Second, as always, even more important than saving her a bit of irritation at his screeches, it pleasures her, and pleasure is the entire reason Van gets to survive.

_ That's how to kill another Hunter if I have to, _ she realizes. If she must-- especially if her family of blood or her family of choice have been harmed-- she will kill one of her kindred.

_ Just keep bashing or choking or otherwise damaging them until their regeneration gives out. Though honestly, my weakest fellow Hunter has more life in her left big toe than in all his ages. Still. _

The realization is enough of a gift that Star decides to fish him out before he drowns against her boob. "Mistress generally, bub." She chuckles.

"I do still care about my momma-- for all I'm going to have to break her heart enough. You call me Goddess in front of her, and I will make sure that your punishment is a legend so harsh  _ Neron  _ shudders when he hears about it. Otherwise…"

She chuckles, wriggling the hip holding him up, higher than his standing height, while his bare legs kick uselessly. Enjoying herself, Star flexes again, holding him in place and cuddling him beneath endless oodles of boob and endless banded definition. The sensation of it alone feels great, just for itself. 

Then the delectable taste that comes from being able to constrain an eighty kilogram adult man with just the endless detail and bulge of her muscles.

To hold him as easily as she'd shred a shirt.

But the flexing makes for such a lovely little burn that she almost forgets to stroke her fingers from Van's groin, up along his soft six-pack and flat little pecs, tracing them over his throbbing neck, and then to his lips.

When he reflexively sucks on them, Star rewards him with a deep-throating. A double-penetration deep-throating, cramming two fingers own his eager, gulping maw. Each individually thicker and longer than his still-stiff shaft.

_ Unf. Lordy, but he's a good sucker. The flex, though-- I could get addicted to how good it feels to put all this oomph in motion. _

_ I guess this is why those gymrats get spend every hour of the day lifting weights. Shame none of 'em ever get anything like real muscle-- can you imagine being limited to a mere sixty-odd inches around the chest-- max? _

_ Poor things. When I get me some, I'll see what I can do for them. _

She doesn't need to look at the once-Vandar Adg to be intrigued by how far his gullet stretches out to accommodate her conquering fingers. It's his place to be molded to her whims, of course, but she wonders if that's his resiliency, or her power?  _ Hmm… I'm not actually sure! _

_ Oh well; his resiliency belongs to me now, too. That's gonna make facefucking him with my nips extra fun though! I wonder if I can still break his jaw with them. _

She might even leave his mouth intact-- she's feeling a lot better now that she's fed. Speaking of… An answer is owed. "You already know I'm your goddess now."

And so she is.


	29. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illuminated by the violet and the blue of the Hollowed Earth, Star the Hunter catches Van between the shadow and the hardness, the softness and the light. Wriggling and blushing, a few short hours have destroyed the fifty thousand years of tyranny, murder, and the occasional, mainly accidental heroics. From their ashes, she has made a slave worth having.
> 
> And one who can satiate her relentless, all-consuming Hungers, at least for a little while.
> 
> Closer and closer she uses him to bring her to the edge of fullness. Of having her unending thirst for pain and sex filled, for just a little while. He's good material-- perhaps even perfect. But there's been some damage in storage and shipping.
> 
> Well, storage, shipping, and Starring.
> 
> But that's okay. She isn't limited to the flaws of the material-- and as it happens, this material is self-healing. Now, beneath her and at her mercy, all he has left to do is to choose.
> 
> Soft?
> 
> Or hard?

Star the Hunter holds Vandal Savage in a beautiful prison. He's starting to become grateful for the privilege. She still has more to work on him, but...

Glistening in the pale bluish-violet light, the mountainous swell of her muscles looks like some great treasure hoard. Below the waist, where the blue light dominates, the long grooves and impossibly hard bulges of her legs shimmer like blue marble. The faint purple light glitters most where the shadows of her muscled form fall upon their neighbors.

Above-- where Van is held, pinched in place by the mere flexing of her ripped side muscles, stony abs, and endlessly lush breasts-- and behind the violet rules instead. The light is cast by some distant gems, and is in many ways more like lightly colored darkness over the smooth, succulent globes of her immense breasts and jiggly ass.

  
Where her biceps and triceps bulge, at rest vaster than your average Mr. Olympia champion's peak, the light seems to concentrate in the striations and other taut lines of muscular definition, like those selfsame glowing purple gems were drawn over her skin. Drawn by some adoring, worshipful slave-- which her current toy is only beginning to become.

The violet light seems to be caught, somehow, by the fierce power of her muscles. A chromal snare made from the fractal webs of post-superhuman extra thews and hyper-expanded sinews. All of it shimmers together as they follow and concentrate along the primary power of her core past-bodybuilder outline.

From the near-shadow, the glows are positively luminous along each bulge and bulk and groove and looking like its purple hue should be blinding along her vast, burly limbs and titanic core.

It's as though Star has become so strong that the very light is caught the merest twitching tenseness from a  _ breath.  _ Like she devoured the runes and glyphs of the broken circle to adorn herself with. More than her blue eyes are radiant within the shimmering violet shadow.

She's in endless loops and swooshing lines, crisscrossing her back as traps and lats and obliques and so forth squeeze and ripple with her very breath.

Van is caught in the shadows and pressed against the hardness, barely breathing from the sheer press all around him of deliciously gorgeous breastflesh. He's held captive in her muscles, but also as a lonely prisoner of tit-mountains massing more than he does, pushing around his face and head, demanding he kiss and lick fervently-- and with her permission, and under her orders, he has.

"Goddess," he breathes, in between kisses. Blood is draining as he's held virtually sideways, but that's not why the formerly steel-willed villain's tone is so adoring.

"Please," he groans. "Let me serve you."

"Are you prepared?" the giant mega-amazon asks. She half-grins, the left corner of her lips raising while her left eyebrow quirks as well.

Purring, she squeezes him, just lightly even for his frame of reference. "Let's go with 'mistress' for now, okay? I want to get you into good habits, baby."

_ Of course, _ Star thinks,  _ there's the question of  _ how  _ he could possibly serve me. His body is so little, and as for his mind, well... _

"I wish to be prepared," Van mumbles. "To be ready to serve, how you desire, mistress."

_ I think you do, indeed.  _ Once, he was a tyrant responsible for millions of brutal deaths and billions of lives forever tainted by the steel of his grasp. Now?

Now, his mind is broken.  _ And I broke it. _ The thought makes Star's nipples tingle and her clit pulse.

_ Speaking of how he can serve…  _ She made sure to punish him half-randomly, and reward him with even more variance. Pain and pleasure were swirled into him, his mind deliberately overloaded again and again.

She waits patiently. Far more patient than she was, and far more than how she will be. But her silence is a whip, too, and he cringes from it.

"Too much, sweetie," she warns him, and the swat of a single finger on his rump leaves him yelping. It also forms a far-faster fading red line from star to star.

Forcing himself under control, Van sets his spine straight and tucks his chin in, eyes searching her beauty for his answers. Somewhere along the chiseled majesty of her queenly left deltoid, even her  _ shoulders _ gorgeous, he finds his inspiration.  _ A muse am I, too, mmm? _

_ Good. _

Stiffly, he says, "So long as it is your will, prepared is how I should be, Mistress Star. It will take me some time…"

His shoulders stay straight this time, and he coughs, clearing his throat. "It will take me some time to be ready and prepared as you  _ deserve, _ mistress. But I'm trying."

He wriggles his ass around in Star's grip, blushing like a schoolboy.

Van's mind is still broken, deeper now, perhaps. This level of servility suits him, but he does not wear it well yet. Her savage use has put him deeper into a euphoric trance-- and it inspires his thoughts.

"Yeah, Van," Star chuckles, voice low and pleased. "I know."

Her free hand lightly chucks his chin again, popping her knuckles against it.

Van turns his cheek to meet the blow, but this time, she just taps him; it jars him, rattles his head, but breaks nothing of him.

"I know," she repeats. "And I'll keep preparing you. My way."

A gasp rings out. "Please!" Van begs again. "Your way, always your way!"

Quivering, this time with pleasure rippling up and down his far smaller body, he stares up at her in wonderment.  _ Good. The mold is set. _

His cheeks are far darker than any of the rest of him and his dilated pupils are staring only at her. His breath is shivery, halting-- and not just because it's so hard to squirm far enough away from those opulently abundant melons for him to breathe.

_ Van will heal. He always does. But I'm setting the tenor of our relationship here and now. _

_ His mind was broken anyway-- just long ago, and it healed wrong into this ridiculous presumption that his age and experience made him the best possible ruler of the world. Sorry, Vanny. _

Star smiles, and tugs him around and up. "Good answer, my pretty little toy." He groans, helpless in her embrace.

She considers him, her direct gaze travelling up and down his far-smaller form. "I think you can be used, as it happens," she tells him, licking her lips at the sudden sharp spike in his need.

In a flash, she takes him all in. Faster than the Flash can compute intercontinental navigation, she makes her decision about what use to make of Vandal Savage-- her First Bitch.

But first, Star wills her Hunter Hungers to stop grumbling.

_ I know he's not super-ultra-duper pretty like me, _ she grumps at herself.  _ But, honestly-- especially covered in my juices, he's a pretty little guy! _ Her insatiable hunger for cruelty ebbs, under her iron will.

_ Pretty enough for a human will do! Yeesh. I'm not going to be as greedy as he is. _

Vandal Savage is handsome, as humans would see it. While her instincts hold him in contempt as a wretched weakling-- which he is before her-- he's actually a fairly well-built, sturdy male. Not well-enough endowed for her, though he's definitely been gifted in that department too.

_ Face it, Hungers, _ she notes, amused.  _ Is there going to be  _ any _ cock good enough for me? _

The chance lingers in her mind. That somewhere out there might a cock to fit the bill.  _ Or rather, to fit the Courtney. _

She lets the possibility run in processes deep in the back, reminding her that at least one of her gorgeous Hunter sisters had an extra set of equipment in the brief time her vision consumed the world above.

_ Oh, come on, _ Star teases herself.  _ Vandal Savage will  _ do.

_ Especially to be done. _ She kisses him on the lips, tasting his groans again. Even so close, she can inspect all of him at once with her permeating vision.

Well-built and well-endowed for a  _ human _ . Acceptably fit. Fairly clean, except where she's been using him as rag to soak up her pussy's orgasmic release.

_ And that just makes him look cuter! _ Star insists at herself.

Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin; the common ancestor of every metahuman and quite probably every human.  _ Foul of heart and foul of mind, but I'm working on that _ . The dark maliciousness of Van's usual sneer is gone, and though she has him thoroughly discombobulated, even in his confusion, he has an elegance and grace.

_ He's had enough time to learn  _ that _ , at least-- even when he was flailing about, 'chicken wings' was unfair. Even then, he had a sort of instinctive grace. Not quite as good as what the Pulse gave  _ me _ , but, hey, he's only had fifty thousand years to shape a human body's reflexes. _

The prospect tickles Star's fancy. She giggles, making her toy shiver in fear. _ I'll teach him so-o-o-o good. _

Her thoughts slow,returning to a human baseline. "Yes. I'm horny, Van." So is Van, and he shows it, cock stiff against her tit.

She bites her lower right lip, inhaling deeply and making her enormous, cushiony "You have  _ no _ idea. The Pulse made me so  _ very _ fucking horny."

Star pets his pre-coated prick with far more gentleness than her earlier commanding clench. "No-- you're not prepared enough… But I'm going to fuck you, anyway."

Her tongue teases over her lips while her fingers clasp and jerk over his shaft. __ Van's eyes are bright, his jaw slightly slack as he hears her. He stutters for the word, awestruck at his chance.

Star's finger taps his sore sternum once more, but this time, only hard enough to make a heavy thumping noise. Her eyes meet his directly, letting him see and share her fire. " _ Are you ready to serve, slave? _ " she snarls.

He almost climaxes from the snarl. "As you command, mistress!" he replies, wriggling his ass around over her chiseled forearm.

And that is why and how Star can fuck such a tiny thing without destroying anything other than his self-importance. He has  _ become  _ ready, driven on by her will. Trance has transcended to meditation.

It shows in Van's eyes, dilated but determined. It shows in his body, stiff with fear but not rigid-- save where he should be. Even without her brutal hand or his more desperate measures, he holds himself from the orgasm.

It fuels him, protecting and reinforcing his body once more.

She settles him down on his feet. More than five times as bulky as he is, nearly twice as tall, he's face to lips with her gorgeous, soaked slit. Her huge, battering-ram fists slam onto her hips, slapping the fleshy, pert curves.

Star is pleased. Reflexively, she tightens up her ass, just enough to make her whole bubble butt quiver. It feels  _ so _ nice.

His neck quivers lightly and his nostrils flare. His human-scale thick chest rises and falls rapidly. "Say it."

"Your sex, mistress," he whispers between deep breaths. "By-- Blood! You've addicted me to your s-scent alone!"

"Good," Star says, her purr like an army of tongues upon him. "You'll get more musk when you're a good boy, then."

A deep chuckle bubbles up from within her voluminous chest. Two fingers tease under the shadow of her heavy cleavage. "Oh, wait."

It's not just her sex's sudden rush she pursues. "You're being a good boy  _ right now _ . I should take care of that."

So she does, feeding on her desires and his alike. Van crosses his hands at the wrist behind him, bowing his head. His moans give her another treat to be savored: Just how much his new addiction leashes him to her will.

It keeps his eyes where she wants them, too. Head bowed or not, her First Fucktoy can't help but follow her fingers' damp dance. It's his turn to chew on his lower lip, while his mind goes all but blank, contemplating

Heavy pants redouble as her fingers tease her clit, lightly tweaking it back and forth.

"I'm going to rock your world, Van," she promises him. "More. I'm going to fuck you until you're completely spent."

Star winks, knowing he'll hear it in her voice even though the immense overhang of her tits blocks the view. "Why don't you get to know my pussy again, Van? I'm sure you've learned a bit more about how to be a generous kisser."

Her playtoy groans out, "Thank you, mistress!" Some daring she can approve of; his reverent kisses start on the inner sides of her leg.

His worship travels upwards, lips and tongue fervently tracing the titanic bulges. Careful of her fragile fucktoy, she grinds her heavy thighs together, helping him along. The flexing brings out enormous shifts and titanic swells of rock-hard muscle.

"Have a reward, my First Slave," Star purrs. Muscle and tongue and obedience combine.

She watches Van close with her pussy, nearer by the moment. The pleasure rocks straight to her pussy, the beautiful snatch dripping more arousal down her quads to him. The arousal outlines her grooved musculature, dripping over his tongue.

At the moment of his kiss, lips to lips, she gives a deep chuckle. "I'm going to use you," she says, hunger giving her voice a ragged edge. "You'll live, I promise; and I promise I'll keep you."

Van looks up at her in wonder and gratitude. Before he can babble too much--  _ it's nice babble but I'm so FUCKING HUNGRY for sex that only playing brainball is letting me take this slow. _

"You're doing  _ good _ Van," she tells him, cutting him off. "So good, my pretty little man. So I'm going to be  _ merciful. _ "

Remembering her painful mercies, Van skips a beat in kissing her pussy, but she laughs, ruffling his hair again. "No, no, it's good. Promise! You can even cum, little guy."

She tilts her head to the left and growls, "As much as you can manage, even."

Star suspects he'd be more relieved were it not for her tone. The ferocity in her "reassurance" makes the poor ancient shudder. He bows his head, licking just the very lowest curve of her vulva.

"Oh,  _ yeah, _ " she groans, reaching out to grab his head. She squeezes, but gently, fingers interlacing in his hair.

"Becoming coy, little man? I'll indulge that, too. For a little while."

Taking the hint, Van dives his tongue into her slit. "Just remember, though," she pants, sex shuddering faster and faster.

Sweat glistens off of her immense body much as it coats him; beauty to beaten. "I'm the one who says when we're done fucking. So only let yourself cum only if you trust yourself to get hard fast enough for me again."

She feels him jerk against her grip, but not in rebellion-- in arousal. Her hands shift, allowing him to press his kisses to her clit. Her feral grin gleams in the half-shadowy violet light.

"Good boy," she coos. __ "Bring me over one more time, baby, then I'll mount that adorable little patheticock of yours."

_ Hah! I can actually feel his cheeks blushing! _ It's convenient, being tall enough that her cunt is more or less right at his height. She begins to pull his head back and forth, burly arms rippling as she works him. "So… freaking…  _ close! _ "

It doesn't take him long. Even well-fed, her new body is needy and her new toy is well-motivated to learn. Soon she's screaming triumphantly, shoving his head down. Down, and between, the better to cum all over his face… standing.

"That's it, hottie," Star half-growls. Her hands are far gentler than her voice.. "Get me off regularly like  _ that _ , and I may let you wear a shirt again sometime."

He's too dazed to figure out her tease, so she just ruffles his hair and flicks a finger towards the floor. "Flagpole style, sweetie. Put your  _ personal _ stars to the ground."

The branded buttocks in question tense, as though her hand is already on them again. Of course, from a certain point of view, they always will be. Breathing heavily and glistening with terrified sweat, Van assumes the same position as when she raped his mouth.

"Mm, yeah." She licks her lips, bouncing on her heels. "Tighten that tush up, baby. Squeeze those stars. Legs tight together, too."

Vandal Savage, the First Fucktoy, shudders, crossing his ankles and flexing his glutes as taut as he can. His throat catches as he moans, "I obey!" 

It isn't much-- by comparison, but his mistress pounces him immediately, blurring over alongside him.

"Yeah, that's my pretty little bitch," Star replies. She casually scoops her left hand between his desperately squeezing quads. He'd make your usual marathon first-placer or good medalist high jumper green with envy, but her lightest touch spreads him.

She tugs on his nuts, squeezing and fondling them as she sets the musky sac up from between his legs. "There we go, cutie. Tighten up."

She emphasizes with just a little bit of tightness over his arousal-thickened nuts. Just a little-- for her. Van feels it rather more; his legs all but snap shut. Her smile broadens and she starts to play with his balls some more.

"Slosh, slosh, little nuts," she laughs. "Get nice and full."

Star's eyes flick up to pin his gaze back. "Nice and full," she repeats, drawing her huge finger in a moebius loop from ball to ball.

His testes respond as swiftly as his groan, filling and heating as she plays with him.

The First Fucktoy wails. He can't do much else. She won't let him.

"Ah! Mistress! Y-your finger-- I can't resist!" Panic and ardor sends him shaking, quivering under her touch.

"Don't," she sniffs, then rolls her body over. Her knee pounds the concrete and the stone beneath.

The stone mostly absorbs the blow, but it has enough reverb left, with the concrete's, to knock Van up into the air once more.  _ Mmmm, hot like that-- helpless. _ Chiseled thighs and warm, protective hands grab him, her thighs around his, and her hands behind his back.

Star holds him there, slick cocktip almost to her greedy slit. Teasing, by her terms, and yet… Twice as tall as he is, the effect is rather like a skyscraper being erected on a sandbar; her shadows cast far beyond the reach of his flesh.

"You're helpless, Van," she moans, licking her lips. "Just surrender-- you can keep yourself hard, given the  _ risk _ , I'm sure."

Trembling, he reaches over to her waist, as she keeps him up between her thighs. Her hips are far more than twice his width, of course, but there's still not a lot of un-muscled space between! "In we go," she purrs, and pulls him into her.

" _ Fuck! _ " Star snarls as she feels his shaft penetrate into her moistness. Her Sex-Hunger is rapacious, and she lets it ride free.

Van is hers, and she takes him. Her pussy begins to literally drag his dick further within. In moments, his groin is squirming against hers, the action of her folds and the grip of her fat, wet labia enough to suck him in.

Shuddering, incoherent cries greet her from her cunt-captured slave. His only words are variation on "Please, mistress!" groaned so fast they run together.

He's holding on for dear life, weak little hands holding tight onto the curve of her hips.

The feeling of him within is amazing. "Van!" Star gasps. "Oh,  _ very _ good bitch, indeed." A happy purr follows, roughened by rapid pants.

_ This… I didn't expect. _ _ Nice! _ She's experimented a bit with sex during college; virginity didn't outlive her nineteenth birthday.

But big lover or little, Star has never felt anything like the way having a weak little victim squeezed by her muscular sex does. It's a combination of physical dominance and her Hunger's reward, all together. All for her.

Physically, she keeps Van just where his captive cock best brushes against her clit. Whether she's forcing him to hilt his prick or letting him slide back, her clit deserves and receives constant stimulation. He's doing his best to participate, but really, he's along for the ride.

"Heh," she groans, burly forearm wiping sweat into her loose, blonde hair. "Just having you like this-- I'm fucking you harder than if I had a strapon, aren't I?"

Harder than anything, really, but that's mostly fucking  _ around _ him; if it wasn't for the invulnerability of the changed Earth, her pounding knees and kicking feet would have them soon straight down to the core.

"Yes, Mistress Star!" Her eyes widen with delight, and she bears down hard on him with her sex. Hard enough to sting, even in his trance; gentle enough never to harm. His gurgling cries are the finest nectar; his prick's pumping, spasming release, the finest of obeisances.

Greedy for the doing, she speeds up. Ass clenching and thrusting back and forth, Star's fingers clench like her cumming pussy. The tight digits leave their marks on his merely linebacker-broad back and send him thrashing all the harder into her.

"That's it," she groans. "Lose yourself in me, baby. Whether I fuck your brains out or you cum your brains out… you're mine. Just lose yourself forever, and be mine."

Each word is punctuated by a round of her thighs' swift parting and clenching, pumping up and down on Van. Each sentence is answered by him crying, "Yes, mistress, yes!" It's delicious, completely delicious to body and soul.

The warm, wet feeling of him sliding back and forth, his body and the tempo both under her control. "Mine," she groans. "Mine!  _ Fuck. _ "

With his surrender, each of her climaxes blends into the net. "You really are the perfect slave, Van. Or at least…"

Star smiles hazily. "You're the perfect  _ material. _ I'll make you perfect for me, baby."

"I promise."

Her promise is met by another pleasured wail. Van is cumming in her, his balls emptying but his meditative control squelching even the concept of a refractory period. She masters him utterly, by her heated, tight folds' clench and the rapid-fire slams of her terrifyingly strong legs.

That said, she's  _ not  _ doing the work alone, though; she wouldn't tolerate that. Couldn't, really. No matter how much she feeds herself, he is instinctively slotted into the category of 'slave.'

"More cum, Van!" she demands. "Empty your balls and empty your head, right into me."

Neither Star's savage new will nor her pussy's greed would permit such a wretch to slack. Her fingers trace possessively over him, the left hand moving to the front. There, she plays delicately with his face, teasing with her fingers.

All along, her thumb acts as aggressor, rubbing her cum into his skin and flicking over his mouth to probe him every time he cums anew.

Every time his cock's release sends a fresh wave of heat spiralling out through Van's fifty-thousand years-old body.

Every time the heat brands her stars into his mind.

Every time he screams out, "Mistress Star!" and is made hers all the more.

It's good for Van that he's deep enough within her power (and her pussy) that her use of him just gets his hips thrusting as best they can. She won't let him fall, let alone cease. Her grip and scissorlock are more than hard enough for him to boost off and push into her.

Star winks, her long fingers keeping him tilted around her huge breasts, just so he can watch the hunger in her face. Nodding and moaning enthusiastically at herself, she asks, "How do I feel, hottie?"

_ Oh, I know, I know… _ Her orgasms are flooding over him now, constantly crushing and relaxing around his cock. With her squeezing quads' push and release, he's kept thrashing up and down at almost vibrator speeds.

He tries to speak, but she's fucking him too hard, too fast, and too thoroughly to make a coherent response. Babbling, yet again, but though he isn't giving her an intelligible answer, she laughs, and just squeezes him all the harder.  _ And yet, I know... _

Grunting, she rocks her hips back and forth while bouncing him harder, tightening her legs. Her ass flexes, glutes bulging and plush padding bouncing. "S'okay, little man. S'okay."

Star moans louder, each fresh climax making her flood further over her toy. "I'll forgive you the incapacity. This once."

Her eyes glitter.

Van's wild screams, mixing pleasure and not-quite-pain, make her laugh joyfully. "I can feel your ki between my legs, Van," she coos, teasing him. Her thumb plays with his mouth as she thrusts up and down roughly on his poor, trapped prick.

Star's pussy is no less  _ merciful  _ as it lewdly clenches around his stiff, sperm-spewing shaft.

Groaning, she throws back her head and screams in triumph, her right hand reaching down between her thighs to squeeze his ass. "I can feel your lifeforce, Van," she growls, fondling and spanking his star-branded tush.

"I can feel it trying desperately to save your life. If I wanted to take it all… You'd just give it all up in a moment for me, wouldn't you?"

Giant tits bouncing and bobbing, Star's right hand carefully supports his head, keeping him moving smoothly. It gives him a moment of coherency. A moment of awareness of his giant mistress' threat-- and of her pleasure, dominating his weakness.

"I don't want to die," he moans. "It's hurt-- ahhh!"

_ Mmm, thread that needle, bitch, thread that needle! _ He screams, not from her squeezing thighs, but from the raw pleasure of another uncontrollable pair of orgasms. His, splurting deep within her; hers, flooding over his prick and gushing down to his balls.

"It hurts every time," Van says, shuddering, drooling. "B-but y-yes… what a way to go!"

She groans, wriggling her ass around more and more with each new squeeze and pound. Her muscular thighs bulge, tensing more and more around him. The pressure is immense, making his mystic reinforcement spark and flare like her belt did-- but the Pulse will never find him.

Star hauls his head into the soft darkness of her cleavage, her arms wrapping about him in possessive protectiveness. Abs rippling hard enough she nearly pulls his balls in too, she lets out a roared, wordless cry of pleasure. What little of the concrete and brick that was left above the height of a standing man is gone, and most of the rest, too.

The duffle bag with the  _ Manuals _ nearly goes with it, too, but a sparkling runic shield protects it and the book he carelessly dropped further.

"You're safe," she pants, pulling his head from her cleavage and stroking her hands back and forth over his hair and back. She keeps him there, walled between her tits and her muscles and her pussy once again, moaning each word.

"I promised. Keep you. Keep you safe. Mine.  _ Mine! _ "

Fingers clasping hard on Van's hair again, she pulls him entirely out of her slit. The curl of her fist is hard enough for a yelp but gentle enough to avoid giving him a concussion. " **_MINE._ ** "

He is, of course, still hard. Her free hand shoves up on his ass while she guides him to her lips. This time, when her tongue invades, his dances tentatively with it in return, and her still-spasming sex gushes anew at this fresh submission.

"Mine," she repeats again, chuckling deep and throaty but less overwhelming. "I promised you'd be safe. That you'd live-- that you'd be mine."

Kissing him on the lips again, she enjoys the taste and feel of him quivering in her arms. "So long as you keep me sweet, you'll live, and I'll protect you from  _ anything _ ." Her blue eyes flash in the night.

"Your kisses..." Van gasps, his eyes going wide.

Left there, he moans, squirming in her embrace. He's not trying to get away; just the contemplation of her lips seems to leave him unable to remain still. "Your kisses' taste is worth any cost of sweetness, Mistress."

Star's beaming smile should illuminate the entire cavern, by rights. " _ Very _ good, Van," she coos, her thumb coming up between his legs to play with his well-spent nuts.

"Very good indeed," She teases seed back into production for his vesicles. "Perhaps you're ready to serve more than you thought, mm?" 

As she moves her other hand to his back again, he ducks his head aside, blushing. "I'm not strong enough to serve you properly, mistress, and--" He sighs, limbs drooping despite her caressing fingers over balls and butt.

"And?"

"Merciless, mistress," he says, a blush spreading over his whole body. "You're merciless."

" _ And _ ?"

He swallows heavily. "And I still fear what your service will bring," he whispers.

"I still-- part of me keeps suggesting--" He trails off again, but no further mercy is to be found in her stare.

Van looks away-- from her eyes. He can't tear his vision from her tits, not with them jiggling slowly with her breath.

But he finds a place to keep his admission. "Part of me keeps looking for a way to turn this into my scheme. My power. Fifty thousand years, Mistress Star."

"But not all of them the same way," Star replies, stroking his hair gently-- then tweaking his nipples sharply enough to get a little squeal from him.

Her thumb strokes more insistently at his balls, and she smirks. "You know what you need," she whispers, leaning in to bite his earlobe softly. Two little marks, and she tugs on it, pulling his head back to expose his neck.

Van shudders a bit, wrapping his arms around her left breast, as much as he can. Voluntarily surrendering to her cleavage again. The shudders become quavering quakes, a pleasant little fear-vibrator for her tit. But she will not be so satisfied.

"Tell me," she insists, swirling her tongue over the marks.

_ I know what he wants; I know what he needs. But he needs to surrender to it. Let's see if he can. _

Terrified-- of her most, and of his needs second. Van mewls and squeezes helplessly against her breast. She growls, and tugs on his ear as he closes his eyes, holding tight to the sensitive, jiggly heft.

"One more chance, Van," she warns, disappointed.

The pleasure is insufficient to buy off her dominance-- indeed, his squirming terror merely arouses the desire to torment him, not just hold her superiority over him like a queen's scepter.

"One more chance, to please… rather than be  _ used. _ " Star chuckles. "You'll suffer either way, cutie. Why fight it?"

He stiffens, then falls back onto her teasing hand. And there it is. Spreading his legs as though to expose his hardness further, the once-tyrant begs.

"Please, mistress!" he groans. "Please humiliate me; please break me anew-- I want to serve!"

"There's my good bitch," Star says, suggestively running her middle finger down and past his balls. Supporting his full weight trivially upon it.

"Two choices, sweetie."  _ Never give a pet a choice you don't want him to take. _ "I can let you off lightly."

Her finger shifts, bouncing him against the hardness of her other arm as it hugs him close. "I could tease you about that adorable patheticock of yours," she suggests. "Maybe make you flex alongside me, mm?"

Star balls her hand into a fist, just lightly bulging her forearm out. Nothing special, no bigger than his thigh. "We could see just how many Vans it would take to equal one Star!"

She pauses, and giggles. "By volume, anyway. Even as a bigger bitch, you'd still be-- well. My bitch."

Van stares, dumbfounded, and that's all he can do.

Winking, she adds, "I think that would settle your little Inner Self-Stiffie, wouldn't it?" she asks, bringing her hand around to cup his balls and tease at his shaft-- just light nerve-touches.

The pulses of pleasure make his shaft nearly leap Van moans, shuddering as his pre messes the smoothness of her heavy knocker. Earning himself another little penalty. "And… the or?" he asks, groaning and gyrating his hips, bouncing up and down on her forearm.

Kissing his ear, she purrs, "Or I can do you  _ hard _ , pet." She draws him back along her forearm, until his star-branded ass is resting against the bulge.

"You don't get a preview of  _ that _ or." Star's words seem to shiver through him, arching his back and making him throw his limbs back and away from her. The jerking motion grinds his hardness against the slickened patch of underboob, settling her giggling and grabbing his dick in her fist.

Her thumbnail plants over his cocktip, making the mess splurt around and soak his groin again. "I do like you messy, little guy. So make your choice. Soft… or hard?"

Kissing his cheeks, she lowers him to the ground, smearing a five point star onto his back with his lube.

  
Once he's-- not steady-- but at least standing on his own two feet again, she pumps her bicep up, showing off the immense mountain of feminine muscle. Leaning over to kiss the very peak, she makes a happy sound and then smirks at him. "I guess either way you get soft  _ and _ hard, Van."

Her blue eyes flash. Holding the threat and glory of her powerful flexion high, she unclenches the fist and pinches her finger together, forming a point atop her thumb and aiming it right at him. "Pick.  _ Now. _ "

All along, Van's breathing has grown quicker and quicker. His shoulders scrunch inwards, and his eyes flick back and forth rapidly-- until the flash. Pinned by her gaze, he looks up, tilting his back and holding up his hands with placatory aim-- but there is no placating his owner now.

Spine stiffening again, drawing on his eternal wellspring of life, and will, he forces his hands back to his side. Drawing himself up to attention-- naked, covered in both of their orgasmic juices, and his twenty-five centimeter cock stiffer than ever-- he bows his head as much as her stare permits.

There's a wonderment on his face, as though he cannot tell where from the will to speak and the will to act so arises. "Hard, Mistress Star," he says, turning his will against the millennia of failed grasping and insistent narcissism.

"I beg you; treat me harshly, as you would see it best, and  _ please _ …" He shudders, still unable to close his eyes-- and waits.

Star leans down, closer, and closer, until the fat weight of her titanic teardrop tits is heavy and hot around his head. "Come kiss," she instructs, voice husky yet again as she points to his precum on the rounded beauty of her breast.

"Come kiss and make amends before your doom is revealed."


	30. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long ago, Vandal Savage thought he loved a woman; he never learned her name. He called her "She Who Stands Unaided." Out of respect, he said.
> 
> When their daughter was three, she killed herself, unaided. Because she hated him; because he took everything from her. Because he never even bothered to learn her real name.
> 
> Owned by Star the Hunter, his entire life demolished down to memories and decoration on top of the instrument of her relentless will she has made him...
> 
> She remembers his name, even permits him to keep part of it.
> 
> Van's smallness is complete. None of his fifty thousand years of experience, none of his usual shield of the banal-- of experiences repeated from so many different perspectives and varieties that they cease to matter-- is helping him here. Nothing can shield him.
> 
> Because there is no flaw in her. No appreciable limit to her strength; no fine-tuning she cannot perform when necessary. Her power over him is total.
> 
> And she intends to see that power make use of him. Millennia of mistake after mistake, pettiness after pettiness.
> 
> The waste offends her. But she'll give him paradise again anyway. This time, though...
> 
> It's time to serve her ass.

Vandal Savage has lived a long time. He's buried far more than Old Deuteronomy's ninety-nine wives; and he has put many into the grave himself. One of them,  _ only _ one of them, ever had his love.

He called her, "She Who Stands Unaided." Out of respect, he said. When their daughter was three, she killed herself.

Because she hated him still. She had a name, she'd had a family, she'd had a home. He had conquered her village, conscripted the men, and "availed" himself of the women.

He availed himself of no other after her.

Vandal Savage thought he had love. He thought he had found a light of true happiness. Perhaps a reason to stop endlessly prolonging his own life by devouring his offspring.

His bastard offspring, anyway. But it hardly mattered. Because the 'love' was an obsession, a desire for the personality he projected onto her.

He never even bothered to learn her name.

  
Now, licking his own precum from the breast of the gargantuan woman who has promised to fulfill his soul-deep request to humiliate him until his resurgent self-centered self-esteem breaks, it occurs to him…

… "Thank you," he whispers in between licks.

"You know," his mistress-- his goddess-- the Star that owns him says, thoughtfully, "I'm actually not sure what for."

He can hear the quizzical tone in her voice; see the raised eyebrow in his mind's eye.

"Thank you," Van whispers, kissing the damp spot left when he's finished cleaning. "For knowing my name. And letting me keep a part of it."

Tears of shame roll down his cheeks.

But not for the service he does now.

The parallel breaks. He knows very well that Star doesn't hold the same delusion of love he had. But now-- in no small part because she broke him to it-- he loves her.

Only in so much as he can, and there's so much to bridge. He's ashamed of who he was. That is, after all, why he asked to be humiliated; to be broken anew, so he can heal even better.

A huge hand, the author of much of his pain and much of his enlightenment, comes down. Softer than poison, she strokes his cheek. "Van," she says, firmly. "Look up at me."

He stares up at her brilliant blue eyes. At a still-curious smile he doesn't deserve. "You are mine now, Vandal Savage.  _ You. _ "

"Not a fantasy in my head. Not a picture of you. I'm going to make you into a better man. But I'm going to use the raw materials that compose  _ you _ . And I will never fool myself about what I am doing, or who I am doing it to."

"That, I promise you," she says firmly.

_ Ah, _ he thinks.  _ My humiliation begins. I love her all the more for it. _

\---

_ I'll make him tell me about that later, _ Star thinks.  _ I'm pretty curious, but to be honest… I want my  _ prize _. Intellectual curiosity can wait. _

_ There's fifty thousand years of Vandal Savage to unpack. But I've got a lifetime of orgasms and suffering to devour before I meet my mom and Pat again. Unwinding Van will have to take a back seat. _

_ … Back seat. Heh. _

Her smile broadens, and her eyelids narrow as she looks over her quivering plaything. "Oh," she adds. "And I promise you that I'll try not to become predictable."

Stroking her fingers over Van's face, she draws the teardrops from his cheeks to her tongue. Her tongue swirls over the fingers, one by one as she looks over him.

He swallows heavily, brightening her smile again. "Besides, you look like a man who's lived in a time period where those boy love manga Mary lent me wouldn't have been a  _ guilty _ pleasure at all," she says in her best cheerful rumble.

_ Yep! _ Star smirks as he looks away, blushing. "Part of you would probably be humiliated for how much my middle finger could do to your asshole-- and more importantly, to your prostate."

She sniffs. "Yeah," she continues. "You look like the kind of ungrateful guy who'd protest being forced to have one of the longest, hardest orgasms of his life."

As Van coughs lightly, she purrs and continues. "For a couple reasons, but primarily size envy." She holds her hand palm up, and wiggles her middle finger about, laughing at the furious blush on his face.

"Or maybe that part of you that's trying to turn this to your advantage is  _ trying _ to get you some hot anal loving and size-queen action, mm?" She traces her fingers over his jaw at least, the heat of his blood rushing into his cheeks merely a mild variant of what she intends for him. She traces the line for a moment, toying with him.

An attempt at defense is stifled through the simple expedient of holding his jaw shut. It's at hand, after all. Of course, all of Van is...

"Shhh," she says gently. "I mean, I appreciate that I'm your queen and all. But you're not getting away with either."

Smirking again, Star sweeps her toe under his legs. Before he's more than barely off the ground, she's there to catch his fall, her enormous legs crossed-- for the moment.

Similarly oversized arms wrap around her toy, hauling him once more to her breasts. "The girls are kinda useful as a  _ rack _ , aren't they?" she asks with a wicked laugh accompanied by a flexing of pecs and the bouncing of fucktoy that results.

"I'm certainly held up, mistress," Van says, coughing. "Ah--"

"There we go," she laughs-- and her most feral grin reasserts itself.

Ignoring his unspoken question, she teases her hands all over his body. Helpless to resist, he plants his trembling hands on her shoulder, and she minds not in the least.

_ Why should I? And I told him to keep touching me, so.  _ Even now, he doesn't displace so much as a dimple; her taut skin is as unyielding as though she were steel and he naught but paper.

The bulging press of muscle  _ alone _ makes it vibrate enough to shake Van almost more than his own terror.

Star's smile grows. Her tongue strokes over her lips while her toes curl and her face reddens, the fun way. A big hand comes up behind her toy, thumb tracking over the stars she put on him.

"I wanted to do that to you the moment I woke up," she teases, voice husky. "Doubly so since you tried to  _ control  _ me, Van."

A stammered apology is cut off by a finger on his lips. "Shh, no, no apologies, cutie," she purrs.

The huskiness in Star's voice rumbles into a groan. "They won't  _ help. _ Now…"

Both hands descend and take hold of Van. Squirming for her pleasure, his fearful tensing flexes his tiny glutes back against her thumbs. Around and around they trace, turning carefully or narrowing to just the nail to make sure she covers every part of the star, but only the star.

Having made the request for humiliation, he recognizes her waiting game. She sees it in his eyes, in the way he grimaces, trying to lock himself down.  _ To better 'survive' my humiliation with his dignity intact. _

_ He doesn't know what I'll  _ specifically _ do rather than wear him like a glove _ . "You know so many horrible things I could do, right, Van? You've done them-- to thousands, maybe even millions, just by your own hand."

"Part of you-- that part that you begged me to squish-- is trying to tell you that there's nothing I can do you haven't tried, right? You've done it all. Hell, you've had it all done to you, right?"

"Yes," Van admits. "It's a usual go-to."

Then he looks away, almost sadly. "Even the brand-- the shape, even-- is… is not new. But--" He shivers, unable put words to the sensation.

Silently, she just keeps working his ass over with thumbs and thumbnail. The more she re-draws the ass-stars by trace, the more he shakes. The tighter he clutches to her shoulders. She doesn't break the silence-- nor permit him to.

Her gaze is more than enough to silence Vandal Savage-- and many times over enough to silence her Van. Which should be enough explanation, but she knows it won't be.

"You're wondering how," she says, continuing to pet him. "Wondering if this is some strange Hunter power-- getting the fear out of prey."

It isn't. But he doesn't need to know that. And she wants her Van's  _ fear _ …

And love.

Star isn't hurting him again… not yet. It is, in fact, quite the relaxing and muscle-taming massage; easy enough for a Hunter. As though if he just gave in and melted into her hands, all of his pain would evaporate again-- like she could rub his ass right back into the trance.

"Yes--" he whispers, his eyelids growing heavy. He shakes himself, shoulders and head, only jerking his ass incidentally-- not daring to succumb to rest nor the temptation to tear himself from her grip.

"Yes, I… am wondering, Mistress," Van grunts. "Some of it has to be because you hurt me so well before, but-- I don't know how it's breaking through."

He  _ is _ forcing himself to stay alert, and she sees a terrified quivering run through him. Realization dawns in the smaller man's face. "Do you-- intend for me to collapse into your arms?" he asks cautiously.

Almost shyly, come to that.  _ Maybe this is how I'll keep him young…  _ "I'm still not certain of your desires, yet."

A throaty chuckle is his first answer. "You're more use to me awake," she explains calmly. "But if you fall asleep-- well."

Star leans in, licking the scratches she left on his chest. "It would demonstrate you're almost too weak to  _ be _ of use. And you should be sure, that while you begged me for this, Van?"

Her smile is anything but friendly, though cheery, in her own, dire way. "It's all about what uses  _ I  _ receive from you." That gets him quite stiff indeed.

All over.

Star's Hunter hungers feed deep on this; a slow digestion of his presumptions and assumptions, the sweet terror in his scent and shaking his very bones. "You're part-right," she tells him.

"It's partially because I hurt you." She pushes him forward by the butt, prodding his stars towards her. His squirming body is caught over her left nipple, and she makes sure to scrape her nails deeper on the stars now, spicing his terror with pain.

It confuses her toy. She laughs, kissing Van on the throat, plying it with her tongue. All of a sudden, she's curious, like some giant cat playing with a toy.

"Unf," she grunts. "Does it feel as good to you? My nipple, so big, so thick, right above your dick where the weight of my breast pushes you back."

Her voice goes through a shudder and into a growl. "Van, you're too weak to even get yourself a fold of tit to bring that little thing horizontal again. Does it feel good, being so weak my nip is bruising your groin?"

The ancient caveman winces from her words more than the pain-- and most of all from the answer. Which  _ is _ an answer, sure enough.

" _ Yes, _ " Van groans. "Yes, it feels so... " The words choke in his throat.

  
"So right, little man," Star insists. "It feels so right you could almost cum."

"And you will, too. I'll make you clean up everything… but you will cum anyway. Just like you're still afraid of the pain I could cause you." A flick of her left thumb, and a nerve is triggered-- just one… reporting heat-damage at the top of its neurochemical lungs.

Van screams and screams as she laughs, her chortles growing more shallow; her clit, throbbing with each new scream.

"And that's why," she tells him when his screaming-- and his cumming all over her breast-- stops. "That's why you're afraid. And that's why it feels so right."

Star shoves his head down. "More to clean," she reminds him, and he obeys instantly, wallowing down on his hands and knees. He laps up swiftly, while she sits, and strokes his hair. 

"Anyway. It's because everyone else who hurt you had a flaw in their technique. Or more than one."

She shrugs, seeing the probabilities and likelihoods cross throughout time. "There was always something. Some experience you could point to when it was done better. Some slightly darker secret of pain for you to think of, even if you found a flaw back then."

She quirks an eyebrow down at her little man. Van swallows down his own ejaculate, choking it back just slightly.  _ So much fun to  _ play _ with him... _

"Having problems with the  _ taste _ , now, little piggy?" she sneers. "No… it's the thickness."

Star lets a little more of her Hungers flare in her voice. "If I could call it that," she growls. "You're cumming harder… and harder… the more I use you."

"The harder I use you, the thicker your thin little jizz gets. But you for all you're finding yourself harder to swallow… you do seem even greedier to stomach it."

Star's hands are a constant counterpoint. Soothing once again, tender-- grooming his hair once more. The sort of service and sensation even Vandal Savage had once pursued with ardor.

"So that's it. I guess it is a Hunter power, but it's not the power to force you to feel fear. What would I need with that? No-- the reason it feels right to you, the reason it terrifies you-- is just like why you started out afraid of how pretty all this buffness is."

Pleased and pleasured, Star groans as he slurps around her breast again, desperately wiping up the last traces of his cum.

"Mm. Good at that, piggy. I should keep that in mind for you at feeding time." Another cruel laugh echoes in the dark.

"Because you can't find any flaw. When I hurt you, it's like nothing you've felt before,  _ except _ me. When I flex, it's like nothing you've ever  _ seen _ before."

The heat of Star's blue eyes leaves him no defense at all. "You use sameness as a shield against the world, Van. You use banality to hold back mad geniuses and archmages, shining champions and berserker grotesqueries alike. You use your millennia of past to protect you from a present that never satisfies and never measures up.."

Trembling, his duty finished, Van hangs his head. Or tries to. He yelps as her fist gathers in his hair again.

_ Ah-ah-ah! _ The light tap of her knuckles is much more precise than her first, brutal skullcracking. Just a jarring set of snaps and crack as her fingers slap into place, enough to pain but not enough to let him escape into addled wits.

Yanking his head around but keeping him on all fours, Star forces his eyes to meet hers again. "But you can't do that with me, Van."

"Maybe it's my generation," she purrs, squeezing her massively powerful body closer and closer over him. "The teachers all told us to become life-long learners."

Her big breasts shake as she chuckles, the mass of them bouncing his head back and forth. "No? Probably not."

"But that's just it. No matter what I do to you, I'll do it better next time. Maybe not more pain. Maybe less! Maybe more pleasure-- maybe just the same."

Her tongue scoops a bit of drool from the side of a cheek. "It'll all be  _ exactly _ what's needed to break through to my little Vanny… to break my cute little guy."

Star moans so hard it almost brings her to orgasm on her own sonic after-vibrations. "Again, and again. Forever."   
  
A flick of her wrist sends Van tumbling over onto his back, his inherent grace outmatched by pain and speed. He rolls with the colossal woman's light motion as best he may, slapping his palms against the stone as he lands. It hurts like hell, re-breaking the meager progress his regeneration has made.

But no more.

Suddenly, she's crouching over him, a tight striating tenseness of her pecs holding her weighty rack from smothering him as they… chat. "And at the worst-- you could have always hoped to escape. No fear of death, right, cutie?"

Van doesn't-- can't-- answer. Just stare.

"So why would you fear a little pain or even humiliation then? You'd always be able to get your own back. Always be able to escape somehow, and come back for thorough revenge."

Star lowers herself down, squooshing her fat tits out like reclining cushions, just a bit past the top of his head. Staring down at him almost quizzically, she smiles, not feral-- rather warm, actually. "But you know that won't happen with me… right?"

"Yes!" Van screams. "I can see it-- I can see it-- I can see it--" he stutters the same four words, over and over again.

"I can see you tracking me. Finding me.  _ Breaking _ me again, no matter how much I tried… and if I came near to true death…"

"I  _ really _ am going to find a way to extend your life without needing to eat anything human other than my pussy. And hey, given you seem to be  _ ambitious _ to do that, not just  _ ready… _ Maybe I should deliberately look for a way to tie your life to my clitty-- and then make you please it even if you'd rather be dead."

"N-no escape."

  
"You're not really used to that, are you?" Star asks, leaning as close as her breasts will physically permit. Her breath is hot on his damp face.

"Been more than fifty-kay years since you saw death as anything but an inconvenience. Maybe even saw it as useful. A place others feared… you didn't go."

She licks her lips, just barely pulling in a spot of drool before it could fall on Van's face. He winces anyway, having expected the fall and been denied even that security of foreknowledge. "This feels so  _ good! _ " she pants.

_ Such a tasty little slut.  _ She chews her lower lip, curling and uncurling her toes behind her. Kicking her calves up and down, smacking her shins against the impenetrable unworked stone of the now nearly-bare cavern floor.

Van is stuck in place, held as sure and as fast as having one of her fingers pressing against him-- totally. As though her aroused hunger could channel every ultra-strong muscle in her ultimate muscle-goddess body, and chose to use just enough to hold him. No more.

He feels like he could move,  _ should _ move... 

And can't.

"So that's why it burns, Van," Star tells him. "Don't bother getting up."

Slowly and majestically, she pulls herself up. Her harsh abs tighten and her stomach curls in. The broad, banded bulk of her back works, flexing along the way.

She doesn't bother using her hands; her stomach curls her back; her back carries her vast shoulders. Her waist pulls the rest along, tightening her quads. There she rises.

His goddess.

He's left at knee height-- the floor-- as the etched and perfect swell of her tightly packed leg-muscles rises above him. As he falls in the dark, deep shadow of her tits once more. Her toes scrape across the stone, alternately flexing and extending her calf until she finds just the right amount of resistance, and is towering over him again in a moment.   
  
It's not the easiest thing in the world, to stay so slow. To let her plaything watch; having reminded him of his helplessness, Star shows him the unyielding power that toys with him tonight. It's hard, honestly, not to just spring to her feet in the same heartbeat's eyeblink that her pounce took.

The anticipation burns in her to  _ use _ all this power, not just show it off..

Not easiest way to fight herself. But incredibly fun. Her pure physicality alone has him staring up in a wondrous mix of awe and terror, of desire and shame.

The cruel force of her words?

He's writhing on his back. Not 'bothering' to get up-- flat out unable-- Van rolls around on his back, the grace of fifty thousand years a warrior  _ gone _ .

His shoulders twist one way; his hips, another, but not exactly opposite. No balance. His left arm flails of to one side, while his right is rigid, palm flat to the ground. His right knee kicks; his left leg squirms.

  
"This is why I'll never give you up," she tells Van, rolling her tongue from one corner of her lips to the other. "Because even though I've already  _ gorged _ on your suffering… you have so much infinitely more to give."

_ And because I see something worthwhile in you. Skills you've misused. Talents you've squandered. _

The waste disgusts her, but then again, if she let herself be too disgusted, she'd waste him anyway.

_ I'm not going to throw that away like you have. I'm going to  _ use _ you. In so many meanings of the word. _

He screams out "Star!" howling once again. He barely coughs out, "Mistress!" as well, seeking to save himself from what she can do to him now.

  
"Oh, Van," Star tsks. "This won't be hard! You've already shown me how much you love my ass."

Blue and purple glitter around her, and her teeth are sharper than night. "And you  _ do _ love my ass, don't you?" Squeeze… flex…

_ Wriggle. _   
  


She's taught him that a moan isn't enough, so while his cry starts wordless, he sobs, "I  _ adore _ your ass, mistress. It hypnotizes me every bit as much as your breasts-- and I've barely had a chance to see it!"

"You should fear nothing in its service, then," she purrs. Swinging the sculpted strength of her long legs around, she turns away from him.

"No hands until my butt's kissing you back, cutie. I want you to get the full… experience."

_ Goodness, but this three-sixty vision has its uses! _ She still sees his delicious panic in perfect detail, but she's maneuvering for her own entertainment again. Feeding upon his fear and suffering is nice, but she wants to crush out his regenerated ego before it can get going again.

In a moment, she's crouching over him again. That's all she needs.

Specifically, "sitting" backwards over him, the two jiggling globes of her teardrop tush bouncing back and forth. He has the perfect view-- straight up, and everything both hoped for and feared revealed.

"And it's not like you have a lot to do, either," she moans. "Just keep that tongue working and those lips kissing."

Star thinks for a moment.  _ No, that's not quite it, is it? _ "Oh!" she exclaims cheerfully.

" _ And _ you gotta survive breathing nothing save butt for a few minutes, of course. Just a few, I promise. I have high hopes for you, Van!"

_ Unf! Oh, that's  _ nice! _ The look of disappointment warring with relief warring with stark, raving terror _ …  _ Mmm! Way to get some Star-clitty satisfaction without even touching, Van! _

_ He does look  _ so _ hot with that look. It's the perfect look for a guy-- especially a guy like him.  _

Neither party to her mental appreciation nor left with any choice, Van inhales deeply. Then out, but more shallow. Faster.

Needier.

Just like he  _ needs  _ that butt now. Some ancient reflex-- perhaps diving for pearls thousands of years ago-- makes him hyperventilate, shaking his body as though she was giving him a couple of light slaps.

_ In short, as though he'd make as good of a vibrator replacement as Barry or Wally! Buzz Buzz! _ He can't see it, but her core clenches; the very idea of vibro-Van is…

Appealing, but one that will wait.

For now, the hyperventilation will spare his meditative energies somewhat, his blood oxygenating even as her gorgeous threat swells above him. Her exquisitely opulent asscheeks loom into his vision, dominating it as much as his mind.  _ I wonder if he remembers that it's a crescent moon outside… or if he only knows the full moon. _

A light flicks of Star's hips leave her rearward rack wriggling in perfect waves, crashing against each other. It only takes a ripple or two for the prone man to start drooling. "Mmm, Vanny, trying to get me cumming before I squish your face?" she moans.

Within a second or two, the hyperventilation is interrupted constantly with groans, her plaything rolling on the ground from shoulder to shoulder, always turning his head to stare upwards. Even the lightest glimpse of her asshole is enough to charge all of his orgasm abstinence batteries tenfold. He's muttering words of worship again, only barely avoiding naming her Goddess again each time.

_ Aww.  _ She purrs, so soft that a wind picks up but no human could ever hear the source.  _ I might even permit it, cutie! _

"My life for Mistress' ass," he whispers, and his concentration makes it true. Despite knowing what she intends for him, he facilitates it.

It's almost easy; each rolling grind of her asscheeks floods him with the power he needs. The gorgeous dance of her butt instantly reinforces his body and supercharges his lungs-- using the lifeforce accumulating in his unspent nuts and the corresponding chakra.

_ Heh. He's not as bad off on the ego front as  _ either _ of us thought, now is he? _ She gives her rump a rolling flourish, her indirect sight showing that his hands have flattened against the ground, instantly obedient. Mere moments before, Van was having to force himself to raise no more than his wrists.

He wanted to touch that squishy-perky teardrop perfection so badly he was almost willing to risk her wrath.

_ And now, his hands are pinned to the ground even as his focus is  _ held _ by my ass. Nice! I wonder how much of his mental image of Vandal Savage is being squished out with each new clap of cheek to cheeks? _

She has to suppress a giggle, just moaning as her pussy juices good and hard.  _ And I haven't even sat on him to do the squishing yet! Now for that... _   
  
Perfectly balanced, Star has no need to steady herself with a hand. Her huge quads flex firmly, deep, rugged monster-thighs rippling just atop the cruel macehead-bulk of her calves. Her tertiaries link up; her entire body could be supported by the consort muscles alone.

She's crouching with her knees forward a bit. Her palms are planted squarely atop her knees, a light bit of counter-tension between her thighs pulling towards shut. A little tension, and her triceps bulge as they keep her legs spread and the wetness of her sex exposed as it lightly clenches.

_ Hornier I get, the more it wants cock to dominate. I have  _ got _ to get some work-partners for Van! _ Her nips stiffen and grow, great 'nubs' throbbing with the thought of many mouths obeying as much as cocks to conquer.

Star's rather enjoying herself, her hips resting easily back and a bit tilted. "Oh!" The round curves wriggle from side to side, as though squirming for the most comfortable position on a stubbornly nonexistent lounging chair.

Literally enjoying herself, her hand between her thighs and fingering her always-insistent clit once more. The scent of her gushing arousal, so near to his head pushes Van into another climax-- which at least amuses his mistress enough to get her laughing.

_ Oooh. And maybe some other things partners, too. Scandal Savage is  _ hot. _ I bet he breeds well. _

Laughing hard enough to make those sweet, succulent globes shake more, bobbling back and forth above him, just out of reach even if he were to lean up.

And to be fair, Van is still rather intimidated by the rump in question.

But that's what it's for.


	31. A Truly Savage Stargirl Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are few creatures in all existence quite as beautiful as a Hunter-- or of her type of beautiful. Above and beyond the pure aesthetic excellence of a Hunter's body for what it is, her beauty is invasive. Controlling. Overpowering. It doesn't matter where you started, you'll end up either making a Hunter your exception...
> 
> Or, in the case of the truly powerful like Star, your understanding of what beauty is will be redefined-- and you will be reforged in its power. Van certainly is being transformed by the pure power of her utterly exquisite ass. His regeneration means he's so much more useful for her Hungers, before and after each moment of feeding. But...
> 
> But it means it's so much harder to get him to cum to terms with his new place. He's close-- so very close. All she needs to do is rub it in his face a bit more.
> 
> Well, maybe it's more that she's rubbing it-- her ass-- over his face a bit more.
> 
> A lot more-- a whole lot.

Vandal Savage is, and isn't, crushed out of existence. A sort of Schrödinger's Slave, the man that Vandal Savage  _ used _ to be is quite smooshed, long before Courtney Whitmore's ass began to descend on him. And yet-- and yet, something of the self-defeating selfishness will return.

Giving the Star which guides him a lot more fun smooshing it again, and again, and again… She's almost sad that she won't be able to let her youngest daughter-to-be inherit that with him. But she doesn't estimate it will take more than a few years to finish molding him into a self-perpetuating advisor, sans vizier habits.

Especially with her juicy, massive,  _ jiggly _ ass and its perfectly rounded, juicy cheeks over deep, deep and powerful gluteal muscles. It is beautiful. It is terrible.

It holds complete power, and there are  _ good _ reasons that her Van is still in awe of it.

Nonetheless, it inspires him to further depths of begging. "Please, Mistress-- please use me!" he cries out.

He strains his neck up, trying to reach the wriggling cheeks, but he doesn't yet flick his tongue out to see if it can bridge the final few centimeters. "I can't quite-- I mean, your ass-- it…  _ Goddess, please-- guide me! _ "

And there he trips over the line. Star doesn't answer. Not out loud.

_ Well, I did say I might let the bitch push the limit-- as long as it's not the only thing! And it's not. _

She hears him, of course.  _ That said, I think he's  _ demanding _ guidance… so... _

But he might as well be screaming in wordless grunts. All he gets for his trouble is the continued sway and clap of two divinely ripe cheeks, bouncing rapidly above him. Neither faster nor slower nor closer, just jiggling on to a tune in her head.

Her shadow lies across her Van, body tilted back at the waist. If she fell without controlling it, she'd break him. To her strength, though, her body's weight is lighter than the smallest feather.

Her shredded abdominal muscles don't even so much as  _ quiver  _ to hold her in place. They do stiffen with a light bit of tension, the natural consequence of so much power packed into even her oversized, pale-skinned frame. The tension travels from there in delicious webs of sensation.

Just a lightness still, no more than the consequence of her mere existence.

Still, with her victim paralyzed by terrified adoration, she lets the light tension become deliberate squeezes. As she ignores him, as she prolongs his terror whilst pleasing herself, Van becomes the instrument of his own punishment. All she does is dance her body in swift gyrations and rolling bounces.

He's left pinned to the ground, and Star isn't even touching him yet. She doesn't need to; not to help him squelch his own self-interest, nor to keep herself entertained. After all, her will sends little clenches through the rippling bulges of her quads and shakes the weight of her tits about for her personal enjoyment alone.

How fortunate that she sees  _ everything _ , herself included, in every last lewd detail.

And she is pleased to be pleasing.  _ I look  _ good _ like this. _ Her hefty rack is in alliance with gravity at the moment.

The weak tug of the simulated gravity of the hyperformed Earth pools her endless supply of smooth breastflesh back, setting it higher on her chest, a little more circular at the base. The end effect is much like a pair of broad, perfect domes, each topped with the pink towers of her ever-hard nipples. Which are then sent through a 9.0 earthquake.

Without the rubble, of course. Unless you count the ruin of Van's conceit-- or even confidence.  _ I'll build that back up when he's ready. _

_ When he's ready not to see this as a threat or even humiliation-- when he begs for this as a reward. _

Contemplating her butt is enticing enough for Star; she notices that its wiggly perfection makes her floundering little toy clench down at his groin instinctively. The effect is something like a wave hello; his cock wiggles back and forth, pathetically flinging precum onto his legs and stomach. It would be cute-- if she wasn't already ticked at him for his temerity.

But she's punished him with silence and beauty long enough.

"Guidance, Van?" she says, somehow icy beneath the moans of pleasure. "I gave you  _ orders _ , you little asslick. What kind of  _ guidance _ do you need, again?"

The jolt runs through him. He begged her for ruthless, and so ruthless she gives him. Without any of the pity and hardly any of the possessive protectiveness his worm-tier squirming earned, she her snarl pins his will in place.

The sudden and spiking hardness tears at the few emergent strands of his self-regard, tearing them away once more

"I'm s-sorry, Mistress," Van groans. "I can't even… your ass… I…"

He shudders, her butt nearly within kissing range now. So much of him can't even  _ anything. _ Not anything of the self.

Self-regard? Self-conceit? Self-importance?

It's clear in his face, where fear is melting into euphoria yet again, what most of him thinks of  _ self- _ regard.

It's  _ Star's _ regard the majority of him yearns for, and has been anyway. Now, she aims to teach obedience and submission to even the little bit of him that is desperate to escape her butt.  _ All of him agrees how sexy he finds my ass. _

_ It's just a matter of making those itty bits of his itty bitty self forget the laughable idea of possessing or controlling my sexy. What was it I said? Oh yes. _

_ Squish… squish… squish! _

Leaning back as she is, her blonde hair dips fair enough back to tickle and flick at the softness that is the chest of a fifty-thousand year-old warlord. All the hardness and strength of Vandal Savage's millennia of combat, often and preferably extremely personal combat, is as nothing before her. His whole body is nothing before so much as a finger-- is nothing beneath even her golden locks if she wishes to tease.

And she does, flicking the tips back as her hips sway and she tosses her head around. The fine strands could flog him like a cat o'many tails indeed if she wished. She does not.

Indeed, Star permits him no pain from this, only a light tease of the very tips stimulating in semi-random swirls over his chest and belly. Pain might give him something to fight. A handhold to resist.

She has no such mercy for him.

Van cries out. "Mistress Star!" he howls, making sure to get it  _ right _ this time. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, before they force themselves back open.

Each time he howls and grows silent, the voice in his head no longer whispers of his glory, but screams hers.

Each time his eyes close, the memories of past victories fade and future plans dissolve.

Bit by bit, they dwindle. And when his eyes open… His  _ existence _ is full of the beauty of her ass, shaking triumphantly.

Tears stream down Van's cheeks again. Not merely from fear of the heavy weights looming down and down towards his face! No, it's anguish-- anguish at having stolen from himself even a second or two of watching his owner's butt gyrate above him.

Of losing even a moment of that rapidly shimmying tush rutting back and forth as though bouncing on a cock far superior to his. One that befits his goddess. And for that lack, he weeps.

But that's really just accentuation. The little extra details and torments to let him know how much Star thinks of him: very little, but worth building more from the wreck and wrack of his life.

The real point is pleasure for her ass. Twerking with a dominant swagger, she shakes the smooth plushess back and forth above him, closer and closer. Her hips rock back and forth and lft and right, swinging above him with promise that none of his face will not suffer for the love of her ass.

Van fears it, and he needs it, and he risks kissing it the moment he can reach. Chanting as she lowers herself, he nearly earns a must  _ faster _ end to the descent. "My hand, my tongue, my heart, my mind…"

_ Yours, Van? _

A hint of anger rises in her, but he howls out, "All yours! All yours, Mistress, yours and your ass!" Then he kisses, and it makes her labia  _ drench _ .

And clench in time with her wriggling, jiggling,  _ wobbling _ ass.

"Aww, baby," Star replies. "That's it. Oooh--  _ definitely _ it!"

A synergistic pleasure spreads; her ass owning him, her sex enjoying the fruits of ownership. Ownership-- and terror.

Van fears the reality-shattering strength of the gluteus muscles squeezing and shaking above him. He's terrified of the smothering lusciousness of the padded smoothness beyond, so much closer to planting over his mouth and nose and cheeks and everything. He has  _ no  _ idea.

The moment his lips touch, she's on him ruthlessly. "Ooooh," Star groans. The viciousness of her smile rings in her voice

"Knew you were a natural born asskisser the moment I woke and saw you. Lick up, pretty man. Lick and kiss to my heart's content."

It's a ruthless softness, the lush roundness pliant to his face but all enveloping. She deftly controls the rolling sway of her hips and mitigates the harsh squeeze of ass and thighs. It's just the endless oodles of buttflesh that squeezes over his face now, dimpling for it rather than crushing it.

It's enough. She gives him no air to breathe at all, sitting down more and more on him and making his ki-reinforced neck and head bear more of the strain.  _ SO COMFY! _

"Mmm," Star sighs. "Fuck, your face was made to sit on, wasn't it?"

He can't really reply, as it happens.

There's a  _ lot _ of padding on her ass now, the toned toughness of her former body replaced with an outright obscene, obscenely-jiggly, gravity defying teardrop shape. It molds around his face, leaving him with only the scent of her musk to breathe. His return squirming and desperate kisses are actually rather fitting.

"Oh  _ yeah _ ," she moans. "Let's face it, Van. Under ass or shoved against cunny, you were  _ made _ to be someone else's throne."

It chokes Van, of course. His stamina is enhanced, but not enough that his lungs don't burn. He splutters a bit, and his worshipful kisses slow.

It's a bad choice of priorities.

He's not so buried in butt he can't hear his mistress's aggrieved commands, after all.

"C'mon, Van!" Star snarls. "Make with the kissy-kissy! I don't want to feel like you're being  _ ungrateful _ for all the gorgeous tush you've been given to love."

Coughing and wheezing from the pressure and pain as much as the lack of air, he tries to obey. Urged on by her snarl, he struggles to kiss fervently over the smooth, globular buttocks she grinds onto his face, his head-- his life. Her ass drives his head against the impermeable stone, causing his energized reinforcement to crackle and spark into her butt.

Where it dies. As Van might, if she kept on pressing. Or if she flexed a little too hard.

But for now, it's just the energy bursts that fail against the soft, luscious padding while she wriggles again and again over him.

Star groans, her slit drooling almost as much as he is beneath her butt. Her cunny clenches on empty air and from the sensation of utterly dominating him. She rewards his submission, her arousal drips onto the helpless First Fucktoy's chest.

"Mmm, much better, baby," she groans. Her right hand comes around in front to tease her clit rapidly, alternating with plunging deep into her waiting sex. The shivers run through her, making still more asswaves over his helpless head.

The hand casually leans back to pinch Van's cockhead, rubbing the pre-spewing tip around. She loves watching him jerk and shudder, losing the fight to keep oxygen in his lungs. Desperately he fights to hold off his climaxes, not even to avoid punishment or having to clean the mess with his tongue.

In fact, it's only in part to avoid death from the power of ass.  _ Only partly; he's trying  _ so  _ hard not to cream because he does want ki, of course. And some of that is indeed because he knows how rough my rump is going to keep being with him. _

_ But the more my butt squeezes and twerks over him, using him like no more than a couch-cushion, the more even his desire to stay alive squeezes into a mold, too. _ The rest of the world should know that, too-- and will. Star's tongue flicks out on the air, tasting the cavern, herself, and the shadow-hidden monsters out in the distance.

But mostly, it tastes him; the salt of sweat matched by the salt of tears against her ass, his precum fountaining off in barely-squelched pleasure. His nipples are hard, his hands flailing weakly against her thighs… And he's left fucking the air all the harder after each new waggling bobble of gloriously scrumptious  _ butt _ pounds over his face.

"Fuck, caveman," Star moans. "You taste like failure. Weakness.  _ Surrender _ . Tastes like my ass is devouring your life-force as you try to survive."

She brings her frigging fingers up to her lips, and licks the headier taste there. "Me? I taste like love and power."

Van doesn't have much of a response to that, other than tonguing her butt all the more.

Laughing harder, Star plays with his dick, or at least, the dick he supplies for her. "Of course, that's how it should be; power for the mistress… pain for the slave."

Her thumb and forefinger flick against the tip, like the twenty-five centimeter shaft was just a teeny imitation of her clit.  _ I'm certainly harder than he is.  _ The thought is delicious.

Van's so rigidly aroused he's almost cumming each time a fat cheek bounces from one side of his face to the other…

_ And my clitty would make his 'rod' there feel like a wet noodle anyway. _

The thought excites her further, and she snakes her knees back and forth, curving their motions to add extra power to her hips. Her hips, as ever, torment and reward Van in the same motions. The powerful writhes accentuate her ass's wiggling conquest of her playtoy's face and independence.

To cement its victory, really. His stubborn refusal to cum and his regenerative powers are the only things keeping respiration going now. Even the few breaths he manages when his mouth and nose come between the gorgeous cheeks just set his lungs on fire with more of her musk.

"We'll just keep this aimed elsewhere," Star says with a deep, throaty chuckle. "I'm not sure you can  _ hold _ your ki like this, so let's not let you have distractions. The only part of me you get to lick for a while is my ass, caveman."

She stretches out, her fists waving to and fro over her head and muscles pumping. "Fuck, bitch-- you're going to be my ass's slave even more than my pussy's, aren't you?"

He chokes again, his hatred of the term rising. It's not a good choice. Of course, that's why he's her slave.

Because he's terrible at choices.

_ Visionary, my ass, _ Star thinks.  _ My ass? Visionary. _

But that hatred, and even the sense that he has a right to self-determination, is being crushed just as surely as his head would be without the ki reinforcement.

There's a wicked tone in her voice. "Little old Cro-Magnon  _ caveman _ ," she calls Van again, lowering more weight onto him.

His spine stiffens against the ground, but the more of her rump she makes him carry on his prone head alone, the less stiff he can manage. Anywhere but his cock, at least. But she has other purposes for that.

The old insult, dismissive and haughty, burns as much as his lungs, starved of air. Humiliates him like it always does. A fire burns up from the part of him that is revolted from being forced beneath the beautiful butt of the owner that part is revolted to have.

So Star sits more heavily on him. He's back to kissing, unable to ignore her order, but she can feel the resentment. It robs her ass of some of the reverence she's due, and that she will not tolerate.

Her big hips waggle, slow and strong, fiercely rubbing her juicy cheeks across Van's face. She makes of her tush a tyrant far worse than he's ever been, grinding harder and harder, faster and faster. The jiggly curves wriggle and shove against his kissing face, pressing down from eyes to mouth. 

His nose is permitted in the crack, but she flicks her rump around too fast for him even get a complete breath.  _ None for you, Vanny boy. Give my rump your ki, your very immortal life squooshed down to an ember for my ass's pleasure  _

_ Then I will rebuild you, sweetie. Turn your life from a pyre to a beacon. All… for the love of my big, bitchy, beautiful butt! _

_ And other bits! _

"Do you remember when this was my pussy, Van?" Star coos. Laughing at his strangled cries, she rocks her ass up and down in three short flicks.

Pounding his head with a plethora of perkily persistent plush.

Fucking Van's face with her ass.

It's so much fun she almost laughs; instead, she torments him with memories of a different  _ blessing _ . "Can you even remember? When you got to lick the deliciousness from my lips, and your nose was full of the scents of paradise?"

His tongue slips out and she groans with pleasure, feeling it press in and massage as best her helpless bitch is able. Time to encourage. Time to rule.

"Oh wait," Star groans. "This  _ is _ paradise to you! Shall I let you earn your  _ stay _ within?"

His lungs burn, all but literally. His lungs burn, and his mind is wreathed in pleasure. For his chest, it's an acidic feeling; nothing dies, but his regeneration is forced into overdrive.

The resultant wheezing cough leaves Van with little strength to give the long licks her rump deserves. The euphoria has him too tightly-- drifting him away from even the power centered inhis self-caged cock-- leaving him in pleasure… but not serving her.

Not even with his lifeforce-- let alone his life. A frustrated growl gets him humping air again-- but the effort below the belt and above the neck are  _ still sub-par! _ Disappointed in her pet, she tightens up her calves.

It's just a small motion. Just a little more flex-- so small, only about twice again his forearms!-- and it moves her so little as well. So little-- and so agonizingly painful in its distance.

_ You're gonna be tasty, baby. No matter what you do about it. And now? _

_ You're tasty, suffering, feeling alone and abandoned... _

_ Because I'm not smothering you with my rear. Fucking hot, Van. Fucking hot. _

It makes Star smile almost as much as his mewling cry. Delectable indeed! The best of  _ tastes _ for their respective stations.

The whine of pain and loss when she raises her ass a mere centimeter from his face is even more sweet than the wail he made when she took her pussy from his tongue. "You  _ do _ like my butt," she giggles, deliberately adding a bit of squeak to her pitch.

Planting her elbow on her burly, bulging left thigh, she plants the back of her hand under her chin and hums. Contemplating Van, and all the best ways to  _ feed _ upon him.  _ So close-- _

_ So  _ close _ to being able to go  _ home _ … I want to go home, Van. And this is how I get there. _

"You know, it doesn't entirely matter," Star says thoughtfully. "You'll go where I say. Still…"

Tracing her nail along his cockhead, and down along the underside, sends Van sobbing. "Of course, Mistress Star, of course, I will-- I will, I will!" he screams as she toys with the nerves.

No blood, not yet, just the light pressure of the blunt edge of her fingernail, and he's left with more pain than when she flicked her finger against his groin and left him spewing.

"I know you will, sweetie," Star teases, her voice husky and full of the deep horniness his pain and lapping evoke. "But you have to  _ want _ it."

_ Want it so badly you'll put the very last knife in your own narcissism. We'll see. Promise, pretty little man. _

_ I'll get you there. _ _ There _ has such titty-quivering, cunny-creaming, ass-shaking potential, after all. But most importantly…

There will keep something of Courtney Whitmore in Star the Hunter; enough to return to her mother and her father and her siblings as something other than a ravening beast.

Star licks her lips, slowing the gyration of her hips to figure-eight squirms. Pussy dripping all the way, she flexes the left cheek up, then slams her hips right. Her pleasure sears his chest, her musk soaking in deep.

Bouncy and almost bubbly, her right ass cheek squeezes down. She holds it for half a second, then slams her hips up. Both buttocks squeeze so close together, and she pistons three times, humping the air over him and  _ covering  _ him in her scent.

Van cries in mourning, hating the air that separates him from his mistress' ass. He laps a tongue follows where that divine butt shimmies, worships where it wriggles. What else can her little worm do?

Drool, primarily-- at least at first, when air floods his lungs, trying to compete with her butt's musk.

Eventually, with true respiration taking hold and not merely his undying meta-power making a crude substitute, something like thought comes into his head. "Want… want…  _ want _ ," he groans, remembering how to make words that don't belong exclusively to his mistress.

_ Heh. He's remembered what his neck is for, other than choking, too. _ Indeed Van has.

As he cries out his wanting, he struggles to hold his head up, trying with all his might to kiss her butt with as much loving care as he did her clit. But still.  _ I'm managing the latter just fine with two fingers, thanks. _

_ It's only when I go  _ inside _ that I need three. _ So Star does, plunging three fingers deep into the perpetual moistness of her horny slit. Only after dipping them deep and playing with her G a little does she draw them back up to paint her clit with her femmecum.

Laughing, drinking in his cries, she suddenly begins to rock on her heels, from her ankles and up along the calves again. Her knees pull to the side, then crash back together, thrusting her onto air and pulling back in rapid succession. Beautiful musculature flexes in those deadly, delectable buttocks, quivering making it look like she was crushing some poor, impudent cock with it already.

Star just holds that deadly pose for a few moments, or rather, goes through the motion in slow, careful repetitions.

Van shifts his jaw around, trying to adjust to better lick when she's in reach. He fails-- but fails in tranced synch, starting to catch up with the wracking waggle of her ass. His groans and the long extension of his tongue plead with her far more politely than his words ever could.

"Van," she whispers.

"Mis--" he licks swiftly-- "Tress… Mistress!" he gasps, then strains his neck, trying desperately to make up for lost butt-slurping.

The smoothness of it swallows up what little of his Savage side regenerated-- the little self-regard he had left.

She wonders, for a moment, whether or not she's gone too far. Taken too much. It's a balance, like balancing her butt on Van's face.

_ We shall see… _


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long (long) last, Van has found his proper place.
> 
> As the throne of Courtney Whitmore. Now, all she has to do is be careful she doesn't turn him into a drooling blank, nothing in his head but what she put there. That's a sometimes food.
> 
> It takes more than a bit of effort to hold herself still atop her throne and his best analingual exercises, but it proves worth it. At last, he knows how to satisfy. At last, he knows how to completely pleasure her.
> 
> Total surrender. Again and again, his tongue pleasures her; again and again, he submits to the demands of her ass, without even a moment's thought for himself. He would not even breathe, if she did not will that it was so.
> 
> She's going to have to work a little to get him into a place where he'll fight her just enough for Fun, but tonight and now, this is perfect. In the end, she cradles him gently in her lap. Holding him the warmth of her power, commanding him gently to rest.
> 
> Just a few moments stolen, before she must carry him out into the hell of the changed Earth with her. The world he, more than perhaps any save the mystics of the Titan Rite has made. He will suffer for it.
> 
> And that will be his paradise.

Vandal Savage is, on the whole, an inordinately lucky man. To survive fifty thousand years in the first place on the fading energies of a fragment of the now-defeated local contractor of the Creator, despite numerous enemies, thwarting, and the requirement to devour the organs of his blood descendents would be lucky enough. As for provoking thousands of years of Hunters preying on men that has left him enslaved to a woman so strong she can crush the walls of time and space in the clenches of her orgasms…

Well, he provoked the former for his  _ pride _ far more than his survival, despite his claims. The latter is simply surviving it in another way. And at last, he will learn the common cause for his many failures, defeats, and frustrations.

Himself. Given that impediment, the fact that he is at this precise moment more valuable for his fear, pain, and hypothetically swiftly-developed analingual skills is probably also somewhat lucky. He might not be valued at all, a fate that all but a handful of the world's most powerful men are rapidly suffering.

But he has no time for such things, because Van's owner is testing his worth as her superlative ass and its undulating jiggles has descended for his face yet again.

And Star the Hunter has  _ standards. _

_ I suppose that while thinking his comfort or even contributions to pleasuring my butt were more important than even a millisecond's worth of my cheeks' wriggly fun is egotism… Wanting to live kinda isn't. Gotta remember that. _

Her beautiful lips pull back in a grimace.  _ I  _ also  _ have to remember to leave enough of a human in him to grow into the mold I set. Because it's how I get the best use from him… And it's how I stay away from preying on Pat, Mike, and the rest of my chosen family. _

Star does have to remind herself, a little. It's so easy to just jiggle and twerk her ass, accept his adulation, and use the hypnotic wiggle to erase his old life. But she needs to make sure he wants his new life, and that it will fit the man.

She  _ could  _ easily damage him with her butt-- and not just by the strength of her rapidly clenching glutes.

_ But he's fueling his ki even harder than he ever could have before. He's reached entirely new heights of meditative focus, protecting him better than he ever could have before. My ass forces him to obey, and smashes his will down into a shape suited to serve me, it's true… _

_ But my ass teaches him, too-- teaches him how much power he can wield, if only he obeys. Thus… _

" _ Van! _ " Star groans, frigging her fingers faster and faster over her clit. Her pussy clenches, her body trembles, adding more shake and more shake and more  _ shake _ to her shimmy over his face.

"Mistress-- use me!"

"Between, Van. You ready to go between?" Star is so eager to feel his analingual efforts she loses control of her sadism-Hunger. " _ Don't you dare fucking lie to me, you little shit! _ '

Van  _ cums _ . "Yes! Yes! YES!" He howls, unable to hold himself off. Boyjizz splurts everywhere-- his thighs, the cavern floor, his belly, marked with his spent seed.

_ And spent power that should have gone to letting him lick out my asshole! _ The rage rocks through Star and her palm whistle around. Fingers still drenched in her pussy juices, she almost literally tears his heart out-- not for the permitted cum, but for daring to claim he is ready while expending…

_ Oh! Oooh.  _ "Oooh, naughty bitch," she growls, slapping her hand-- and its print-- onto his chest.

The air sizzles, and the red shadow of her wrath makes him scream… but he survives.

Because he didn't lose his hardness at all. " _ Good _ bitch, too!" she squeals, shaking his body even more with the harmonics. Even before the pain of her slap slammed through him, his dick was harder than hard still. All cumming like a maniac did…

… was cum his brains out, once more, and far more thoroughly. Van remains-- but for the moment, he is hers.

So Star makes sure to slap her hand again-- this time onto the impermeable changed stone of the cavern floor-- as she drops her butt right down on top of his face. She hits him, but with no more weight, no more force than if she was still just a little sixty-two kilogram college student.

And the same super-fine musculature control that let her keep her cheeks slapping and clenching together keeps her cheeks nice and spread.

Van's fanatic tongue is working into her crack from the moment she falls. She resists the temptation to actively fuck his face as her pussy did. She has to; he wouldn't survive all that drool-induciing rump raping his tongue and lips again.

So she just sits, three meters of stone-hard muscle and wild, insatiable rage… calmly. Almost demurely.

"Well fuck that," Star mutters. It's not like he'll understand, anyway. His whole world is her ass; the big cheeks squoosh down over his face while his zealous tongue drills her butthole.

Her purr turns into a horny growl. "Fuck demurely, and fuck me, right?" Huge waves of clenching musculature make the great shelf of her pectoral prominences bulge hard, but instead of sending their strength and hardness to her breasts, she lets the power settle in her shoulders.

Then, with a happy sigh, she tightens those up too. Her massive meteoric deltoids bulge, their banded domes squeezing against her upper arms and giving her a little bit of burn to contrast with the pleasure of raping what's left of Van's personality. It gives her quite the thrill.

She doesn't really need the help. Feeling Van rapidly tongue her asshole, wiggling the tiny wet organ in sturdy but worshipful rolls, stimulating so right-- that gets her clit throbbing and her nipples the same.

But she can cum all she wants now. He has finally transcended self. His purpose is her pleasure; her ass, his utter focus.

Star screams in triumphant delight the moment her fingertips so much as  _ brush  _ her clitty. It's her calves that are holding her up too, so she just goes right ahead and thrusts three fingers G-spot deep into her orgasm-spasming twat, pumping them back and forth. The expected reaction occurs.

Sadism and sex; power and passion, control… and climax.

  
Star cums and cums. "MINE!" she roars, and the monsters deeper in the cavern flee as far as they can. Even her nose can barely detect anything under the cloud of her constant femmejizzing.

Van's tongue  _ at last _ understands her body instinctively, just like it should have from the first time she came on his face. But humiliated to the point of identity-shattering, sore, beaten, and hypnotized-- now, at last, he feels  _ pride _ in licking her anus.

And that pride drives him to submissive heights. He isn't just dipped in subspace now; as he expertly eats out her ass, he's soaked in a euphoric mindset that tears away pain and turns it to pleasure; that transmutes punishment into strength. Not the strength to rebel, but the strength to survive, without air, under immense buttock-pressure…

He thrives. Again and again his tongue strokes her ass; again and again, he grows  _ stronger _ , his dick chained after its eruption all the harder. Stiff and proud, cold and alone, it throbs and bobs as though it was worshipping in place of his tongue.

_ I can dominate him with my ass that way, too. _ She smirks; it's an adorable cock and she's looking forward to crushing it a bit under controlled conditions. Precum drools to match the saliva with which he lubes her rump.

But it cannot cum again; to do so now would be to steal from his goddess, and that he cannot do. His cock is completely held on the edge of orgasm denial-- and not from any will of his. The huge weight of her butt and body, the pain of non-breathing-- all of it stimulates him so much he should be popping.

But it would take away from his ability to tongue that Star-ass; to make her pleasured squeals grow and grow. And that is forbidden by the very laws of his universe now. To her ass, he sacrifices everything.

To her butt, to her pleasure-- Vandal Savage gives his utter devotion and a skill in analingus that he  _ never _ cultivated before. Because now, Vandal Savage doesn't mean the ever-thirsty, power-hungry First Tyrant.

It means the well-beaten, totally submissive First Fucktoy. Exactly where his owner wants him. When  _ this _ trance ends...

And it might soon, Star is moaning, "Yes-- more! More! Almost there, my pretty little man! Get me over!" and that means his sacrifice (and her fingers deep within her spasming sex) is accepted...

When  _ this _ trance ends, the egotist that will regenerate won't even remember to try to weasel out from foot duty or ass duty, but especially not serving her as vizier and advisor. It will take him time to learn how to resist  _ and _ submit, so she has a bitch to beat. But she'll teach him.

His tongue swirls in the relaxed ring, while forward of her gorgeous globes, her pussy squeezes so hard on her hand that Star almost hurts  _ herself _ . Which… Well, the Third Hunger adds itself to the mix.

"Fuck! You adorable little bitchboy! Cutie-pie patheticock! Just a little more!"

So more Van gives. It's not like the First Fucktoy is left to pleasure her alone. Those two fingers rapidly running over her clit and the three knuckle-deep in her sex are certainly contributing.

But she resists the urge to squirt until the very last moment. When her toy has  _ earned _ it. When Vandal Savage, First Slave of Courtney Whitmore, She Called Star, has tongued her rump so well that perfect ecstasy slams through her.

And her expert self-love makes her whole body squeeze and clench.  _ Her _ female ejaculation flicks off into the distance, splurting on the cavern, marking it with her musk. She doesn't intend to come back any time soon, but it gives her a vicious sense of dominance to know that whatever Hunter  _ does _ reign here in the future…

Will be getting her sloppy seconds.

But mostly, Star just concentrates on keeping her ass under control. She wants to squeeze and jerk, just like her cunt is doing. But that would be far too much, so she just howls out her pleasure.

"Just" makes her whole body  _ except _ her hips and butt flex. "Just" cums harder and harder, vaginal jizz spraying far and wide. After that...

It takes her more than a few moments to stop. Shuddering and groaning, she lets herself careen over backwards. Her palms take most of her weight again, but she is devilish to poor Van.

Her big, burly back, rugged and rippling, slams down over most of his torso, catching his tiny, pretty twenty-five centimeters in the pinching strength-- but she is gentle.

  
He's forced to aim his cock dowards, parallel to his thighs-- her shoulders are resting on those, and she wriggles around, getting her ass more centered on his chin. She wants him breathing; she wants him calming, just like her.

She wants his face available for her last bit of squirt, freshing up the femmecum she already felt.

"Godd-- Mistress, please, I'm going to cum!" Van whines.

"I'm trying so hard. Please stop me! I don't wish…"   
  
"To what, cum from my muscles, Van? Really."

"M-mistress?"   
  
"I said you could cum, bitch. You've already got floor to clean."

"N-no shame… I just… I must cum…"

"Yes, baby, yes! I permit it-- I command it! Let it loose!"

Van orgasms again, thrashing the best he can under the titanic mass of his musclebound owner. He writhes, making a rough approximation of pistoning or pounding with his groin-- kind of. There's just no room to move; he can't budge her at all.

So while his cock-crown spends the last load she'll permit him for several hours-- while it paints her brawny, broad-ridged traps and the floor with sticky seed he'll have to lick clean-- he is trapped, utterly and completely, beneath stone-hard muscles and his massive, curvaceous, muscle-goddess.

If it weren't for the warning flex of said trapezius, he might have stayed hard.  _ Mind you, there will be times when I get the ring out-- ooh, maybe something surgically implanted… _ But she's generous; she forces him to calm.

After all, with that last orgasm? Vandal Savage now  _ is _ the First Fucktoy, and always shall be. It's what he deserves, after all.

\---

Several minutes of delighted butt-wriggles and eager tongue-cleaning later…

Star, Courtney Whitmore, holds Vandal Savage-- her Van-- in her lap. Now, her tits are warm comfort to him, and her vast muscles reassuring foundations. She's slowly grooming him, licking her juices clean from his face and hair.

It's… Comforting.  _ The nuzzles are fairly nice, too, _ he thinks with a blush.

"Mistress," he says softly. "What now?"

"You mean other than cuddling?"   
  
He blushes again-- and nods.  _ I hate this. I'm learning to love a lot more about being my mistress' submissive, but being so shy and  _ young _ about it all-- argh! _

It may be something of an ongoing failing; after all, why should he be ashamed in her presence?

Star kisses him gently on the lips. "Because you're a proud man," she explains, "And even though I've made your pride be of  _ me _ , the old hints taint it still."

Hunters aren't telepaths, of course, but even were he bundled in ten layers, he'd still scream his every thought and emotion to the high heavens. "I wish I could be  _ past _ that, faster," he says, frustrated.

Star just gives him an amused smile, and he blushes again, tilting his head against her voluminous right breast, and resting on it.

"That's it, Van," she comforts him, voice soft and low. "Just rest for now, and let me take care of you."

"Time enough for you to vizier for me later… or to find reasons for me to punish you again. Heh. Sproing!"

Star teases, but the thought of being at her mercy again has him shivering with fear and lust alike.  _ Especially  _ under her divinely beautiful and demonically strong ass! His cock sproinged pretty quickly after that.

A soft hand touches his face. "Bring it down for me, Van," she instructs. Obediently, he forces his cock under control.

Such a simple act. Simple, yet total, in some ways. When she was forbidding it, it was impossible, her very  _ walk _ so awfully beautiful that his erection was continuous.

But now, chained to her will and enslaved by her body, Van's arousal is not his own. He doesn't need meditative focus, he doesn't need to use biofeedback… He just has to know that she doesn't want him suffering hardness right now.

"Mistress' mercy is so powerful," he replies with a soft smile of his own. "Whether painful or to save me from pain… it doesn't matter."

Tears glisten at the edge of his eyes. "How many years, how many centuries did I waste, trying to rule the world for myself, and losing it each time as a result?" Pain from something other than his mistress's disappointment wracks him.   
  
Star shakes her head again. "Long enough, Van." She strokes his chin with strong fingers. "Long enough I'm not letting you wallow. So  _ rest _ , I said."

Smug and triumphant, his owner leans over to nibble his ear The touch of her teeth and the heat of her closeness sends electrical warmth throughout his whole body. By all rights, he should be harder than stone.

But he isn't… because it is her will. So he just snuggles in closer to her titanic body.

There is no pillow like his mistress' breast. There is no support like his mistress' strength. He has no hesitation about clinging to Star's heavy-hanging knocker, nuzzling back in against the areola.

There's no fear, either; she has told him to cuddle, and he's cuddling.  _ The only thing I should fear here is  _ not _ relaxing… So why bother? _

"Good boy," she coos. "The less you fight me, the more of you I'll enslave. The more of you I enslave… the more effective you'll become."

Van smiles, sighing happily. "And the more effective I am, the better of a slave I'll be," he replies, voice vague and eyes vaguer, "The better of a slave I am… the less reason I'll have to fight.

He kisses the firm yet squishy breastflesh lovingly, worshipping it with his lips. "Thank you, mistress. But, ah--"

Star laughs. "But you still want to know what comes next?" There's no mockery there.

_ Affection as for a dog, perhaps, _ he knows.  _ But am I not her bitch? _

No mockery… and plenty of warmth. The heat of her body is immense; and when the weight of her lovely breasts isn't smacking Van around, it tends to envelope, like a hug over that side of his body. Her quizzical smile isn't mocking, either, nor is it the love of an owner for a pet.

There's too much wickedness in it, too much sensuality. It's the love of a mistress for a submissive.

_ My goddess, _ Van thinks. But not too long; he doesn't want to tempt either the patience behind the smile or the wickedness either.

He nods, giving her a sheepish smile. The thought-- of being owned-- is not settling well with the remnants of the man he used to be. But he has weapons against that man now.

The death of a woman he thought he loved; the rejection of a daughter he could not treat as an equal. Thousands of years of only  _ mitigated _ successes, but in that long term he so loved? Failures all.

And…

"Thinking about my butt, babe?" Smirking, his beloved tormenter rubs her palm over his chest. The mark of her hand has faded.

_ But am I not her hand? _

Star's gentle caresses soothe away the creeping plots hidden in that thought. Closing his eyes, he nods again. "Thinking of the weapons I have against Ja'far Syndrome, mistress; and of the, ah, depths of my gratitude."

Youthful, vigorous giggling sets those tremendous mammaries shaking further, and he oofs as her ever-stiff nipples get a bit pokey. "Fair enough, sweetie. Okay, so, next."

She sighs, looking away into what to him is utter darkness. He reaches up, his palm over her chest again. He's not her heart; she will never love him as more than a toy.

In the days and weeks and months to come, he will bitterly wish he could produce the one Star actually loves. But he can warm her, even if his heat is less than an ember to her volcanic inferno. Slowly, patiently, he rubs, waiting for her inner turmoil to ebb.

"Next, we ascend into hell." Her tone is grim, and no wonder.  _ How many of her fellow Hunters will choose even this wisely? _

_ Even heroes may fall to temptation-- or, if I understand what she said of the Hungers or Drives correctly, to compulsion, purified from empathy. _ Van can't do anything to fight a Hunter. But he can help her.

_ That is my service. My gift to her, and to humanity. An outlet, and a reminder, to make sure that if a monster she must be, it will be a far better monster than I ever was. _

_ It will not be an easy sacrifice, but it will be worth it. My mistress is strong enough to save many-- but  _ how  _ many? It will not be a world either of us know. _

Star kisses his forehead, and takes his hand in hers, holding it over her heart. "I'm going to take you up to the surface with me." She smirks. "You're going to be feeding me a bit again there."

"I-- literally-- quiver with anticipation, mistress."

Laughter dispels grimness yet again. "Then, I'm going to do my best for the JSA." She shrugs, sheepish.

" _ They _ aren't going to like it, either. But they're my family-- I'll do a  _ lot _ to make sure they're safe."

That will be part of his job as well, ironically. When not setting her domains and affairs in order, he will protect her family, if they will have him. Who better than someone who once came up with plans to kill them?

_ Well, bodyguard specialists, brilliant white knights like Sir Justin-- or was it Sir Ystin? Sir Ystina? The timelines can be so convoluted… _

_ Anyway. There are a lot who'd be better, but I'll do. _ For now, he nods, listening.

"Then home. Nebraska. I didn't want to be there… I missed L.A. for so long…" 

"You know…"

"Mmm?"

"I lost my nostalgia for home long ago, Mistress Star," Van says quietly. "I'd have to think for some time just to remember where it was, especially relative to the modern day."

"And?"

"Please, Mistress-- I mean no disrespect. The opposite, actually."

Another warm smile is his welcome-- but the wickedness remains in her eyes, twinkling. She's rising now, cradling him in her arms.  _ A bridal carry, if I recall right. _

It's hard not to sigh.  _ If only. That will never be my place. _

"Oh. Heh." Star laughs fondly again, and kisses him on the lips. "Mi casa es su casa?"

"Castle, probably. You'll need  _ somewhere _ for the bureaucrats, Mistress. Even a genius needs bureaucrats."

She laughs, and he closes his eyes again, feeling secure. No matter how humiliating his service may be-- it takes some effort not to sproing again at the thought-- he knows he is safe.

She swore, after all.

"And so, yes," Van says softly. "I am looking  _ very _ much to a home that is a home, and not another nail in a map, a conquest not mine, but thine."

"Aww. Cutie. You're still not getting out of the subby bag."

His eyes open wide. "The … which?"   
  


His immense owner laughs again, and swats him on the butt. "You heard me. There's so much room in the dufflebag with the  _ Manuals… _ "

She leans over and nibbles on his ear again. "And I gotta carry you  _ somehow _ . Shouldn't I have convenience?"

Vandar Adg, once known as Vandal Savage swallows heavily. "Er, yes mistress Star. Oh… dear, this is going to be a bumpy ride."

Star, once known as Stargirl, but now and always Courtney Whitmore, holds him under the crook of one arm. He wouldn't even be a burden to her fingers. He's already decided not to be a burden to her  _ plans. _

Any more than the introductions to her family will be, anyway.

"C'mon, Vanny," she coos. "I'll use what's left of your clothes to pad your head and keep you from papercuts. And, hey. At least you don't have anything left to vomit!"

"My mistress' foresight is as wondrous as her painful mercies, I see."

Laughter echoes in the cavern once more. And in the end, not quite in a fetal position, carried in the darkness like the piece of property he is… Vandar Adg finds contentment.

As Star picks up speed, so great is his trust for her that he even manages to sleep.


	33. A Truly Savage Stargirl Epilogues 1 & 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney Whitmore and her first slave, Vandar Adg, have walked out from UnderNew York into the hell of the changed Earth. Across the globe, more than a hundred thousand Hunters rampage and roar across the ruins of the shattered Age of Heroes and Villains. Some are great and good, even in the darkness. Some find reasons to control their Hungers, their massively expanded intellects showing them the choices they must make to preserve their own power and dignity.
> 
> Most explode across the world in vengeance for the pain of life and the pangs of the Hungers.
> 
> Courtney has fed greedily and deeply, and has found a kind of balance in it. Now, at Hitherby's Storied Threads, she prepares for the world to come, fully costumed and clothed, both for her preferred uniform, and the one she's taking home to meet her parents in. If they'll have her.
> 
> Some mountains can be hard to move.

#  Epilogue 1

"Go on, Van. Make it quick. I will be."

Star nods to her naked subordinate. He has no shame in it, but she's going to have enough time explaining Vandar to her parents-- as slave or as Vandal Savage-- without a  _ naked _ Vandar to explain, too.

He nods back, already heading towards the men's department. It won't be the bespoke tailoring he prefers, but he has a good enough fashion sense to pick out something that fits both their preferences-- stylish for him, nonthreatening for her.

He already knows what he's going to be wearing in private.

That's why Star came to this particular store when it became clear that the Earth was worse off than she thought.  _ Hitherby's _ used to be a relatively neutral force in the New York costumed crowd. The proprietor didn't just help those metahumans who couldn't do their own looks; they consulted on battlesuit design, worked on wizard robes-- even the non-Sheeda faerie came here, once.

_ And for all I know, the Sheeda, too. There are some things in the back rooms I really don't want to take a look at. But I don't get a choice in that any more than Van does in where and how I decide to make him eat me out. _

But  _ Hitherby's Storied Threads _ has been closed since before the Pulse. Since the death of the majority of the magical community, good, bad, or otherwise in the magical prelude to the Pulse.  _ The Titan Rite. _ She has mixed feelings about the Rite.

On the one hand, Star finds it harder and harder to regret her transformation. Much like she thought, she is one of the biggest, buffest, and baddest-ass of the newly ascended Hunters. She's gone from being a B+-lister to the AP crowd of the new world-- and their powers make even the Justice League seem like preschool.

Or fetuses.

_ But the problem is, oh, G… oh Gaia-Geb, whose name I don't know how I know… the cost! _

The world is not in ruins. It's worse. Large sections of it remain habitable-- but empty.

The population has already dropped by an  _ insane _ one billion-- minimum! Those are just the deaths her newly magnified senses could confirm on a quick survey run.

Everywhere, no matter where, the great cities seem to have taken it the worst. Half of New York lies in ruins. Star smelled so much death-- including several bitches who had the scent of Jay on them.

The only ones with Jay's scent who walked away were humans-- and one partner in almost unspeakably valiant doomed heroics.

_ It's too bad about Sasha, but while she didn't trust me, I'm pretty sure what she was saying is that Jay's in some part of Batman's networks. _ Perhaps the only thing harder than stone in this new world is the resolve of a Hunter who will not be moved. A Hunter with oaths to protect.

Or family. After all, stone can be moved by sufficiently weak hands. If a Hunter is willing to die, neither weakness nor strength can change her.

_ Fine, she doesn't have to tell me. She can figure some things out on her own, too. But those bitches had to die. _

_ I will let  _ NO ONE _ harm my family, ever again! _

Similar logic made for several minutes' worth of digression. There are a lot of men in the Justice Society, and male or female… They were out in the trenches.

No, the  _ entire _ world isn't in ruins. Just twenty percent, give or take. Mostly those urban areas.

And what is left… is mostly under the stiletto heels of Hunters who  _ haven't _ made her sort of choices.

Or worse.

There are worse things than Hunters, and there are worse Hunters than those who indulge their Hungers.

_ I can't  _ see  _ the American Southwest, and I don't know why! Huge chunks of the American  _ mid _ west are being threatened by those disgusting things Van says must be Stealers, from how instantly I honed in to destroy them. That's near home! _

_Candy Mandy and_ Dragon fucking Lian _are beating the shit out of people from San Jose to the Alaskan Border. Iron Discipline is holding on in Florida-- but how long is she going to remain sane? There's nobody even like Candy Mandy, let alone I.D._ _in the northeastern US, nor in Europe._

Star shivers, but her microcontrol lets her continue sewing the specialized materials of her intended new clothes together without missing so much as a nanostich. What's surviving of the news and the internet are-- not good.

_ Central China is a warzone-- hell, so is most of Russia, Africa, and South America. Those Princess chicks-- now there's a surprise, women who were three meters tall  _ before _ the Pulse are all Hunters bigger than four meters each, yep, I'm so shocked-- the Princesses seem to be trying to hold back the dark in Japan, and the word on Hunters' lips and others is they rescued Kal-El from Mandy… _

_ But that Kal hasn't been flying to the rescue since. I don't know what that means-- they also seem to have ways to obscure my senses. I think I know how, but it's going to take me a while to develop my own screens, let alone countermeasures. _

_ Who can I trust? _ Star doesn't know. She knows she  _ will _ be able to trust those she can beat into swearing allegiance to her.

The power of oaths is incredible; she's fairly sure that as long as she has Vanny's oaths transferred to a daughter, he'll outlive her without needing a single bit of Descendent Organ Steak.

She smirks a little to herself.  _ Already got the oaths of like fifteen of the thirty other Hunters in Nebraska, otherwise I wouldn't be back here. Poor Vanny did  _ NOT _ like waiting underground, and I can understand that. _

_ But I can't just punch my problems into compliance. Not any more. If I get a rep as a conqueror… _

Star will have a reputation as a tyrant anyway, of course-- among humans. What she's done to protect the JSA alone, to get them out of New York, will be bad enough. And she's pretty sure that the Hunters who've oathbound to her aren't going to be the gentlest, despite her orders.

_ But I will protect my family. I have to have territory to do it. Which means... _

Holding up her 'work' costume, Star sighs. Not regarding the suit. She's pretty sure that'll do until she can finish inventing better material.

_ Maybe some form of non-sapient quantum metal? _

No; her regret is for how her fellow Nebraskans are going to take going from being Cornhusker citizens to subjects of the Star Enclave. She'll be as fair as she can. Nebraska's a pretty good start.

As long as she doesn't have to deal with perpetual invasion and marauding hordes, she should be able to expand from that, but she has to have a base of operations first.

_ I have to believe that a little bit of punch-punch, fist-fist is just going to be a rough version of "Hi! Nice to meet you!" amongst Hunters. The way we feel about fighting, sex, and beatings… yeah. And I'm a lot less pissy when I'm fed. _

_ So instead of going out for some burgers together, we punch each other a few times, then get along. _ Star is an eidetic now, and no longer as unaware of her subculture as once she was.  _ So not everything has changed moving up and beyond the merely Super crowd, I guess. _

Setting her new work costume aside, the still-naked Star begins to put together a couple of variations. Namely, a few that are even more risque, and two she can wear if her mother ever permits her back into their family home again.  _ Thank Gaia-Geb she convinced Pat and Mike to stay home and protect Patricia. _

_ Oh, spirits I hear in my soul… keep them safe, keep them smart. _

_ Even if they'll never love me again. _

She makes the more-fabric version of her outfit, and a Hunter-sized version of her favorite sweater-long-sleeved shirt-slacks-boots outfit, too. By the time she's done, Van has selected a few suits. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"Mistress?"

"You deserve custom clothes, too," she says, indicating her own outfits. "But we need to shower-- and then get back on the road."

"Mistress, your family are the keys to your heart," Van says, the fierce loyalty in his eyes touching. "W-- y-- no, we is best?"

Star giggles despite herself, and nods. "We can't let them become hostages even by  _ accident. _ I understand you want to clean up…"

Van coughs, and turns to the side, blushing. "And for all I will regret no longer being flavored in you… I do wish to make something of a better impression than last time."

"When you tried to kill them? I think we can manage better, Vandar. If they're willing to talk to me at all."

It's absurd how good being hugged by a man once called the First Cannibal feels. She's sitting down, cross-legged, in front of the various supertech costumery devices she's been using. So it's not hard for him to throw his arms around her neck, and hug gently.

_ Well, he can't be anything but gentle with me. 'Normal' is a pipedream and 'tight' a blasphemy against the new laws of reality. _ Closing her eyes, Star pats Vandar's arms gently, and hugs him back-- as gently as she can.

After he recovers, she rises slowly. "Okay, if we're going to be saving time, let's save it. I'm just glad the water and power are still on."

She suspects that  _ Hitherby's _ isn't exactly on a normal grid; the defense spells and attack monsters she swatted on the way to…

... _ Breaking and entering, go me, my first major crime… But I won't lie, and I  _ needed _ to do this. _

To breaking into a shop whose proprietor she once adored, and stealing from one who is almost certainly dead.

_ Monster, _ she reminds herself.  _ It's not being a criminal hero. It's not being an anti-hero, committing crimes you need to in order to keep up The Good Fight. _

Star will  _ not _ permit herself to fall to self-delusions, Hunter or otherwise.

_ You are a monster. But you're going to be a good monster, and the best you can. Which is why it's time to take that shower. _

Ruffling Vandar's hair to make sure he doesn't detect her pain at all, she smirks. "You know I'm going to be the one washing you, right?"

He coughs. "Mistress, are you suggesting that I  _ won't _ enjoy being under your stern and correcting hand?"

"Impertinence will get you spanked, Vandar Adg."

The inevitable ensues. Before she takes him upstairs for their cleaning, she spanks him. It would have been rude not to.

After all, he bent over and wiggled his butt so nicely.

#  Epilogue 2

After the shower, Star decides to get dressed in her to-be "default" costume first. She can switch to the one with navy blue over where bare flesh shows before trying to see if her parents will chase her away the first time she tries to visit or not. It's a possibility.

_ I'll even let them. The first time-- maybe the first five times. But… _

The terrible thing is, she knows she'll be able to make them bring her back into their lives. Even Alan Scott won't have the willpower to keep refusing to her-- if he stays where she can talk to him.

_ After all, _ she thinks, half-miserable,  _ I don't have to use  _ sexual _ means of social leaning when I understand humanity so well now… and when a given human basically screams "HERE ARE MY EMOTIONAL KEYS PLS USE THEM!" at me in just how they shake their head. _

_ I think it shows. Maybe that's why Jesse Quick ran away in terror even after I saved her. And I don't really want to think about what Jay and Michael will hear from Sasha Bordeaux. _

Van's wearing an undershirt and underwear; he's travelling in a second subby bag she picked up among the various kits around  _ Hitherby's _ . She can dress him-- his clothes are going in the third, hers in the fourth-- when they get there, too, after all. But she may have to work along the way again.

_ If I'm going to have to punch and/or fist someone, I don't want to have to clean the costume I'm going to be showing to my parents repeatedly. Especially if it's several someones. _

"Well, Van?" she asks, tugging the so-called "top" of her new outfit into place. "What do you-- oh dear." The sight of her chest and its acres upon acres of succulent titflesh wobbling about to fit into place has done its work, and Vandar Adg is stuck staring at her in absolute lust and total awe.

It's a gift and a curse both, it really is.

Courtney "Star" Whitmore can see herself well enough, anyway. Three hundred centimeters tall from her blonde hair to her blue-painted toenails (to match her fingernails), Star's still debating whether or not adding an additional twenty centimeters in height in stilettos was a good idea. "Start as you mean to go on" is all well and good, even when "as you mean" is distinctly slathered in sexuality. 

But at a little over the equivalent of four inch heels for a normal-sized woman, the same essential Courtney-ness that insisted on wearing big stompy boots into combat as Stargirl is having problems with the entire concept of stilettos as a work costume. Seeing how much Van drools as it sends him into a trance… didn't help. She  _ knows _ how much it makes her ass jiggle and her hips waggle, yes.

Star even knows-- from very recent experience-- that rump-induced hypnosis can happen to other Hunters.

Still, it doesn't even come close to soothing what she's starting to think of as her Courtney Drive. Remembering that Wonder Woman managed in high heels doesn't help either. Those, after all, weren't stilettos.

But it is perhaps telling that the way she was able to reconcile her stubborn desire to still be Courtney Whitmore with her enjoyment of how out-and-out sensual Star gets to be… is using her immense new data and sensory integration, multi-tasking and threading, and reflexes to not just plan how to make it  _ possible  _ to fight in them… but also to invent a martial arts style based on  _ having _ high heels…

That, that finally helped.

So now when she rises over poor, tiny Vandar Adg, a mere one-hundred and seventy-eight centimeters tall, she does it substantially closer to twice his height. He's a lot closer to being able to walk directly underneath her legs without crouching. Don't think she doesn't plan on exploiting  _ that. _

Star's long blonde hair has been disciplined nearly as much as Van, caught back and over her brawny shoulder into a double side french braid. She didn't particularly want to horn in on either Quake Princess' long, flowing locks, or worse yet, Candy Mandy's intricate half-up, half-down 'do ( _ shudder _ ). She did want to go stylized, though, and making a twisty, double-thick french braid with little navy-blue bands that rest against and past her clavicles seemed like a nice compromise.

_ Especially since I was able to tight-braid them enough to keep the full length! Nice little surprise for the next playtoy who gets me to let my hair down. Plus making Van do the work next time will be f-u-n. _

She still has the same bright, beautiful blue eyes, usually flashing with humor, though she wishes it was easier to keep them from flaring with rage (or rapine) so often. Her face has expanded some; a little rounder around the edges, but with high cheekbones. Her jaw's strong for a woman, but nothing like masculine; it just makes the bright red of her smile wider, and emphasizes her dimpled cheeks when she really lets herself grin big and bright.

Earrings are still being debated. She'd like them, but when will she have the time to create the sort of new fields' worth of materials science that would require? Of course, if they only have to resist regeneration...

_ Whups, just did, probably; it's gonna take much too long to get the industrial sectors necessary up and running, though. _

Star is one of the most titanic of the new titans. The immense bulge of her trapezius muscles alone adds a kind of rolling hill that smoothly feeds into her corded neck. On her back, lats, obliques, and even deeper muscles take on intricately defined striations.

Outwards from her traps instead, vast, rugged deltoids and immense biceps and triceps make her upper body intimidating in the extreme. That's just her way now. Extreme-- and intimidating.

To an extent, her muscles are so big and so well-defined that they look like  _ beachballs  _ full of sand and rocks stuffed beneath pale skin-- for the smaller ones! That's not even counting the macelike bulge of her forearms! Her hands are similarly huge, with short, sharp, white-painted nails.

Together, all of it has a sort of balanced, symmetrical look that makes her musclebound look beautiful.

Star looks like her body is  _ supposed _ to be this muscular, rather than merely the effect of supersoldier drugs or insane dedication to the art of bodybuilding. She is in, and of herself, far more than that. Flexion can push past that, emphasizing the bulk more than the elegance, but she is so gorgeous that even at her most muscular, any onlooker will find something of awe and enticement in her shape.

Whether or not said onlooker is interested in big women, thin women-- or even women at all.

Over this insanely vast primary bodybuilder set of muscles, she has two additional layers-- secondary musculature, like most metahumans, supporting and protecting her body, but also a fractal web of tertiary muscles that add flexibility and power to an already potent 

Star's tire-sized pectoral muscles are harder to see than the rest of her super-sized strength. They're only barely visible above the gigantic swell of her breasts. Each rounded, smooth,  _ plump _ tit is perky with just enough of a compromise with gravity to give it extra succulence and jiggiliness.

They wriggle and shiver with her words-- with her  _ breathing _ \-- in hypnotic perfection. After all, they're barely held in place at all by a combination of her muscular control-- and her "top."

In place of her old long-sleeved, no-midriff dark navy top with white stars, she's kept… a star.

A star, and some bars. A single white star, so huge that it covers most of her rack-- at least, most of the middle. Between the points of the star are alternating long, thick bars; red and white.

  
She's keeping the old colors, to remind her of the past; but she's changing the scheme, to respect the Old Glory, and to make it clear that her loyalty is to her cause, not the past.

The top point goes all the way along her cleavage, up to where the top of her enormous pecs are visible, with the very point right where the banded muscles meets the nadir of her neck. It gets lost along the way, sometimes, through the soft strength of her breasts. A navy-colored loop goes back around and behind her neck, like the top of a one-piece swimsuit.

The four horizontal points of the star, as well as the main body of the star, covers about half of each tit. Of them, the top two covering her areolae and out to the side of her breast, whereas the bottom two swoop down to the underboob. Both points on both sides also have a navy-colored strand that pulls together under her obliques.

There, they're tied to the strings of her string bikini. In the front, they thicken down to the bikini front, framing her shredded abs and mostly concealing her sex. In the back, they swoop down into a thong between her deliciously gigantic asscheeks.

The thong itself is more or less devoured by her teardrop rump, the smooth, gravity-defying rubenesque cheeks squeezing together and shifting in mesmerizing oscillations just from shifting her weight. The effect is more than merely mesmerizing-- literally. Walking, she can get the kind of action some women try desperately to achieve through erotic dance, twerking, and salacious uses of yoga. 

Courtney's enormous legs are even more developed than her arms. Other than the smooth tubes of her sartorius bad girl muscles, the interweaving heads and fibers and strands and  _ mass _ of her quads and other associated thigh muscles have the effect of rolling, rough country. Like her flesh was badlands and hills with rivers of strength running between them.

The fractal interplay of her tertiaries guide the big primary muscles smoothly down to her knees. Even her knees are beautiful, the hard patellas surrounded by consort hardness in that muscular framework that keeps them from looking overwhelmed or out of place. Beneath, her calves, like her forearms, could be most easily compared to mace-heads sized for a giantess' weapon, crinkled and grooved with power.

Under each knee, there's another big, five-point star, part of her boots. Each white star has a red strand and a white swooping downwards in a V that then connects to another pair of stars, each along the sides of her gigantic calf muscles. Between the red bands is nothing but that pale skin; below the second are boots made of the same dark navy blue as her suit-strings and thong.

The boots themselves are skintight, with pointed toes. Shows off her calves something  _ amazing. _ And, of course, the waggle-accentuating twenty-centimeter heels stand tall and proud.

Now and forever, Courtney Whitmore is the Hunter named Star. Ruler-to-be of the Star Enclaves; and within a few short decades, perhaps the greatest Duchess of the Royal Pridelands. At her side is Vandar Adg, her Van, her first vizier.

She's going to have to go much further to find the second; exactly as far as it will take to find her first pridemate. It's going to be a long ride. First, she has an easy road and a hard destination:

Blue Valley, Nebraska.

Home.

  
  



End file.
